


Passion Unchosen

by FlybyStardancer, gatekat



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Dubious Consent, First Time, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mech Preg, Sparklings, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-10
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 13:20:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlybyStardancer/pseuds/FlybyStardancer, https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatekat/pseuds/gatekat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>G1 Jazz/Prowl<br/>The war has done many cruel things, but perhaps worst among them was what it did to the young, those who were not fully mature when the stress of combat was introduced to them. Many of those mecha never matured enough for their interfacing protocols to come on line, at least not until a period of peace came with their arrival on Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When Biology Dictates

Jazz twitched as he came on line. Systems weren't booting in the correct order, yet there were no errors, merely an information icon requesting his attention. With a wary groan he clicked it to open and accepted the data download it offered.

He didn't want this. He was quite content as he was, thank you very much. He'd done without those protocols for millennia. He was quite convinced they only caused trouble. Trouble he Did Not Need.

Still, there was little to nothing he could do about it. They were on and nothing turned them off short of starvation. As annoying as it would be, he didn't want to avoid it _that_ much, never mind Ratchet would never let him get away with.

With a resigned sigh, Jazz got up and turned his processor to who he wanted to lay down for and get this first time, sure to be full of embarrassing moments and worse, over and done with so he could get back to enjoying his life.

Prime could take anything his slagged up Ops protocols did, but the big mech was committed to another. He'd do it if asked, but Jazz wasn't sure he wanted to do this to the Matrix-bearer.

Mirage knew what he was doing in the berth, and knew exactly what Ops protocols might do, but Jazz couldn't find any real desire to kiss his subordinate. What he did know of the noble's berth habits seemed more like torture than pleasure for his partner.

Hound ... he'd be nice and good at letting go, but he'd never survive an Ops freak-out if it happened.

Prowl ... other than Mirage, probably the mech he trusted the most and skilled enough in hand to hand to pin him until any panic settled. He'd shown interest too, long ago, back when Jazz was first making friends with him. A good friend, someone he trusted, and his tanks didn't object to the idea of a kiss.

If Prowl was still willing, he'd do.

* * *

Prowl's doorwings trembled minutely, right along with the rest of his frame. He knew exactly what was going through the processors of every mecha in the rec room because those thoughts were going through his own.

Jazz, the Autobot TIC and Head of Special Operations, a mecha nearly as old as Prowl himself, finally had the energon and time enough to relax that his interface protocols were coming on line for the first time. The lubricant that was already dribbling down Jazz's legs from an overflowing valve was scented to draw every mech within range to court him, yet Jazz was ignoring it and everyone else as he got his energon and tried to act like nothing was going on.

As much as Prowl had dreamed of inviting Jazz to his berth, he had no idea _this_ was why his early, and only, attempt to coax the lovely black and white to share pleasure had been refused. He'd only been grateful that other than his own thoughts, it hadn't impacted their growing friendship.

Now it was time to be the _friend_ Jazz deserved and protect him from having this go poorly.

With a low rumble Prowl stood and caught a startled Sideswipe by the back of the neck, squeezing until cables protested and the frontliner froze, his field expressing as much _surprise-fear_ as arousal. When Prowl was sure he had the mech's attention he leaned close and hissed. "Jazz will make the approach if he wants you. Cross that line and no one will find your remains."

"Y-yes, Sir," Sideswipe gulped. "No touching what's yours. Got it."

"Good," Prowl growled, not bothering to contradict the idea that Jazz was his. Prowl studied the warrior for a long moment, only releasing him when the Praxian was certain he would heed the warning.

Prowl gave himself a subtle shake as he settled back in his seat, ignoring the stares of those around him. He had other things to worry about, like his best friend walking right for him with the trademark grin in place.

"So what miracle of Primus brought you out on your own?" Jazz teased as he slid into his preferred seat right across from Prowl, taking his usual time to tease a doorwing on the way. The sensitive appendage trembled for a moment before Prowl quelled the movement.

"I do need to observe these pawns occasionally in order to better work them in my plans," Prowl replied smoothly, the quirk of one optic the only sign that the statement was meant humorously.

Jazz snickered before turning some attention to his energon. "Still good to see you out of that office when it doesn't involve me dragging you out. Though I swear sometimes you _want_ me to."

Prowl's lips twitched in here-and-gone smirk. "No comment." He picked up his own energon and took a long sip, studying Jazz over it. He was keenly aware of the effect Jazz's condition was having on every mecha in the large room, and likely any who had passed by, and that Jazz himself seemed oblivious to it.

Was that possible? Could Jazz _actually_ be unaware of his state, or the reactions of those around him? It seemed terribly out of character, his battle computer supplying a somewhat helpful 0.03724% chance of it.

No. Jazz was aware. And annoyed. Very, very annoyed.

The slightly smaller black and white tipped his chair back as he worked on his energon, openly studying Prowl as he always did. "You're thinking more than usual."

"There are some who would claim that impossible," Prowl replied, though he didn't outright deny it. He shifted in his seat as the scent wafting off of Jazz filled his olfactory sensors, much more powerful now that the other mech was closer. However, the older mech clamped down on his protocols, determined to not be the one to bring up what was so obviously happening with Jazz.

Jazz cocked his helm, his visor glinting. "You know you're going to tell me eventually. Why not just spill it now?" he teased, playful as always.

"Where would be the enjoyment in that?" Prowl replied, finishing off his energon and standing. "If you would excuse me, there is more work to be done."

"Work, work, work, that's all you ever do," Jazz complained, black fingers reaching out to tease along a black hip as it passed, a move that was as traditional between them as it was tortuous to Prowl right now.

Jazz watched him go, hidden optics clouding over with new thoughts and desires as he watched Prowl move. In the few parts of his processor that weren't consumed with the new lustful ideas he was cursing in every language he knew about those protocols and their effects. How the blazes did anything get _done_ if most mecha had these thoughts all the time?

With a grin forced in place more than usual, Jazz made his way out. A glare stopped the couple mecha who had thoughts about not heeding Prowl's warning to Sideswipe. A pissy Jazz was a Jazz to be avoided at all costs, even if he was that enticing.

* * *

Prowl sighed when he finally exited his office that evening. Limiting himself to being just a friend to Jazz was becoming harder than he thought. The mech's scent had lingered in the air around Prowl, leaving the black and white in a perpetual state of low-level arousal. It was distracting, and had noticeably affected his ability to work, at least that Prowl could notice.

He knew what would ease the symptoms, at least enough for things around Ark to go back to normal. However he would not bring it up. He had no wish to place undue pressure on Jazz to make a choice, nor did he wish to influence his friend's choice.

The door to his quarters slid open smoothly to his ping, only to blast him with air that was absolutely _saturated_ with Jazz's pre-first-interface scent.

Prowl stopped dead in his tracks, reeling from the smell that sent his systems into instant arousal and primed for action.

"Well come in," Jazz's tone was _sultry_. "I hope this qualifies as 'coming to you,'" he added with a purr from where he lay, sprawled on Prowl's berth.

Prowl cycled his optics before taking a slow step inside, the door automatically shutting and locking behind him, enclosing him along with the source of that distracting scent. "You are sure?" he asked softly, needing to make sure.

"That I want you to do this? Yes," Jazz's tone was serious enough for Prowl to believe. "You have the skill to survive if I freak out and you've never talked about your lovers, though I know you've had them."

Prowl crossed the room in slow, measured steps and sat on the berth near Jazz. "What are you expecting from this?" He tilted his helm, gauging Jazz's feelings. His friend wasn't happy, but he was accepting. More or less.

"To get this over with and get back to as close to normal as I can manage," Jazz said bluntly with a slight shrug. "I never wanted the protocols on, I was just lucky that they stayed dormant for so long."

"It will get better," Prowl replied calmly. "And this will be a... quite pleasant experience if you allow it to be so," he added with a customary understatement. Finally he reached out with one hand, fingertips brushing against Jazz's cheek in a light caress.

Behind his visor Jazz's optics half closed. Beyond the intense, nearly painful _lust-need_ in Jazz's field, Prowl picked up the real reason Jazz was here; trust. Jazz trusted him. Trust that might be special coming from any mecha, but from an Ops agent of Jazz's experience, it was a true treasure. Training, experience and programming all did their best to obliterate any ability to trust on that level.

"I have no intention of fighting this, or you," Jazz promised. His frame was that odd mix of relaxed and highly revved up that only came when a lover believed in their partner enough to submit completely while wanting the attention badly.

There were no words that Prowl could use to reply to that. So instead he leaned in and kissed Jazz. First was just the light brushing of lips against lips, before he returned with more pressure. Jazz willingly returned the pressure, mimicking what was done easily after a long functioning of learning on the fly.

Prowl kissed him slowly, lips parting to allow his glossa to stroke along Jazz's lips, coaxing him into a deeper kiss. A mecha's first time was to be savored, and Prowl was determined to allow the pleasure to build from each source.

The soft moan that escaped Jazz when he parted his lips, offering his mouth even as his glossa slipped out to slide across Prowl's lips was reward enough, yet it was also enough to bring Jazz into participating a bit more.

Strong black hands reached for doorwings, stroking the sensitive panels with a curious, exploratory touch.

Prowl moaned, his doorwings instinctively pressing into the touch. He pulled his face back slightly, just enough to pepper Jazz's face with light kisses. His hands were not idle either, beginning to explore the smaller mech's frame. Thumbs circled headlights when Prowl returned to Jazz's mouth, lightly nipping his lower lip.

Jazz moaned, pressing into the touch. His hands abandoned doorwings and moved down, seeking to entice Prowl to do more than touch him and fan the flames that were already threatening to melt Jazz's insides.

Prowl groaned, kissing Jazz again before his mouth moved down to nip at delicate cables in his neck. The elder mech's hands were not satisfied until they had explored Jazz's entire frame before finally stroking over the protective panel covering unused equipment. Both covers slid open almost instantly. The top one releasing a spike that sprang to full pressure almost immediately while the lower one released a flood of lubricant.

A near-keen of need rattled from Jazz's vocalizer as his entire from reacted. Legs spread as hips thrust up, rolling into the touch hungrily.

Trembling, barely able to hold himself together, Prowl resettled behind Jazz, grabbing the smaller mech's hands in his own. One black hand was wrapped around Jazz's spike, the white hand covering it guiding it in how to stroke and squeeze. The other black hand was stroked over Jazz's valve before two fingers, one black, the other white, were sunk in slick heat.

Jazz's helm fell back, his mouth open in a wordless cry as he trembled. Optics shut off as his entire focus turned to feel. This was nothing like touching himself had been like, though that had felt good. Much later, Jazz's processors would chase circles around how Prowl's mere presence could make it so much more intense, but for now all he could do was moan and alternately tense and relax as tactile sensors were set off in ways that made the entire universe fall away.

"You look very good," Prowl said softly in his audio, his voice low and rough from arousal. He couldn't help but grind his still-covered interface array against Jazz's aft, even has his hands continued to guide the smaller mech's, driving him to his first overload. The first of several planned for the night.

At a loss for words for nearly the first time, all Jazz could do was whine and keen softly as his body took over, rocking into both hands. Under the arousal and intense pleasure there were bursts of panic now, raw fear driven by his lack of control. Ops protocols nearly as old as Jazz was screamed that this was dangerous, a fatal state to be in, that he needed to get away.

"You are safe," Prowl murmured in the same tone. "Relax into it. You still retain some control." His arms locked around the smaller mech, holding him against Prowl's frame even as his hands continued to guide Jazz's in pleasuring him.

It was easier said than done, especially as the charge began to build along Jazz's frame, crackling between them. Tension began to crest, tightening cables along Jazz's entire frame as his denta grit together. He was only just holding on by way of trust in Prowl, but his participation in his own pleasure was reduced to reflexive movements of his hips and not fighting Prowl's guidance outright.

Prowl sped up the movements, trying to trigger his overload sooner. He took over more of pleasuring Jazz, though he didn't let go of those black hands, making it that much harder for the smaller mech to get away from him.

The next cry that escaped Jazz bordered on terror, a sound that interrogators hadn't even drawn from him since his early vorns. His frame jerked sharply several times before steaming hot transfluid exploded from the tip of his spike. Another sharp jerk and he stilled, every cable taunt as he overloaded. Bright optics saw nothing, processors comprehended nothing in the flood of sensation that stole his very voice.

Prowl's hands continued their rhythmic movements on Jazz's body, only slowing to a stop as the younger mech's overload began to ebb away. He continued to hold Jazz until the panic eased from his field, leaving Jazz shivering faintly and slightly sick to his tanks.

He clamped down on his own body's reactions to seeing and feeling Jazz overload. Instead he wrapped his arms around Jazz's torso, hand stroking soothing lines over his sides. It didn't take long for Jazz to relax again, the new interfacing protocols demanding attention and clouding his judgment.

A final shudder and Jazz buried the reactions he knew weren't right, that were disturbing Prowl. He hummed softly and relaxed in Prowl's grip, though the Ops protocols never stopped screaming at him. He bit back a whimper when it registered fully that the overload hadn't done a thing to shut down the first-time interface protocols or their demands.

Prowl took his relaxation for the signal it was, nuzzling Jazz's face into position to kiss him again. He shifted them around so that Jazz was laying on his back on the berth and Prowl hovered over him, the hand not bracing himself stroking over Jazz's frame again.

Without a word Jazz spread his legs again, offering. Hidden optics watched Prowl as Jazz tried his best not to think, employing tricks usually reserved for countering Soundwave to get through this.

"Please," Jazz whispered. "I need this done."

Prowl nodded, his spike cover opening, allowing the spike to pressurize. He pressed his body down on top of Jazz's, kissing him in distraction as he slid his spike in the smaller mech's valve, still slick with first time lubricant.

This time Jazz moaned in pleasure, a slower built up, making it easier to enjoy for the moment as his valve was stretched and rubbed in ways that his new protocols told him should feel very good, did feel very good.

Without any thought, Jazz's frame reacted on reflex, pressing up into the contact, taking the thick intruder deeper inside him.

Prowl groaned and slowly began to rock his hips. Jazz's valve felt so good, making it hard to focus on Jazz's reactions and needs. He moved deliberately, striking the deepest sensors in that valve with each stroke. The field against his was rich with pleasure, thick with need and desire. The frame responded quickly, the tight valve contracting around him, working him as it worked itself.

Jazz shuddered, moaning softly as the rising tide swept through him. It felt good, but so did his spike, at first. It was only near the end that things went sideways.

Was this why Mirage and the others interfaced the way they did? Because that last bit was pain and panic but the buildup was good?

Forcefully Jazz shut his thought processes down and focused on trying to gain what enjoyment there was to be had for him. It _did_ feel good right now.

Prowl forced himself to maintain the same measured pace, low sounds of pleasure being dragged out of his vocalizer. One hand moved down to Jazz's leg, bringing it up to hook over a white hip, changing the angle of spike in valve.

The next sound out of Jazz's vocalizer was nearly a keen as his hips drove up into the next thrust. Blindly his hands reached up to grab Prowl's shoulders, pulling him as flush as their frames allowed. His entire reality focused on the undulating rhythm and the building pleasure as it neared that threshold of lost control.

Prowl grunted, thrusting harder, determined to last until his lover overloaded under and around him. He buried his face in Jazz's neck as he worked his hips, pressing the younger mech into the berth. He focused on the building charge in Jazz's frame, in the slowly slipping control and the panic that rose in perfect synchronicity to it.

As much as it went against everything he believed in doing as a _lover_ , Prowl worked Jazz's hands from his shoulders and entwined their fingers, pinning Jazz firmly to the berth. He wasn't Jazz's lover. He had to remember that. Jazz had come to him because Jazz _trusted_ him to handle the side of this that didn't go smoothly.

A sob escaped Jazz next as his frame began to tense from the restriction, the pleasure that was taking control and the panic that loss of control brought. He wanted this over, wanted the protocols settled, wanted to get on with his existence. All that meant pressing forward, though the pain, panic and everything else.

"Please," Jazz gasped out before a keen washed it away with the crackle of energy surging though his frame. The keen became a scream as every cable in his tightened, locking his frame in place and holding Prowl close.

Prowl groaned as his own body stiffened, spike pressing as deep as it could go as transfluid erupted to fill the valve, energy crackling back and forth between their fields and frames.

Jazz slumped first, a sob of relief escaping him as his frame relaxed and with it the Ops-protocol driven panic. Tingles of pleasure danced across his deep circuits, gradually giving way to the disorientated sickness just before nausea hit. Only it never did. His neutral net stayed there, not upset enough to purge but not settling down to normal either.

Once again in the privacy of his processors, Jazz cursed everyone and everything related to his creation as a mech and as an Ops agent.

On the outside though, he smiled gently and extracted one hand from Prowl's to brush against the Praxian's cheek, just as Prowl had done earlier. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Prowl replied, nuzzling at the hand. A small frown twitched at his lips as he removed his spike, allowing it to depressurize and return to its housing. "How are you feeling?" he asked, not fooled by the smile.

Jazz squirmed a bit as his systems cooled and he began to feel the mess inside and all around him.

"Been better, and a lot worse," he admitted, quietly praying that he hadn't just cost himself one of the very, very few friends he could _talk_ to. He brushed Prowl's cheek again. "Parts of that were good," he tried to assuage the guilt he could already see building. "Not your fault my systems are slagged up."

"Not your fault either," Prowl murmured, sadness just barely touching his voice. He shifted slowly, moving to his side and cradling Jazz against him.

It only took a few kliks for Jazz's systems to settle, leaving him feeling relatively normal. With that, he shifted, intent on standing up. "Mind if I use your washrack?" Jazz asked, not keen on the idea of walking back to his quarters still looking and smelling of all this.

"No," Prowl replied. He didn't immediately let go of Jazz, though the TIC could easily pull away if he wished. "What was it that caused the fear?" he asked, wanting confirmation of his suspicions.

"Being out of control," Jazz shrugged as he rolled to his pedes. "It's ... fatal normally."

"And fear does not react logically," Prowl murmured.

"It is predictable," Jazz added as he walked to the washrack. "At least to me."

Prowl watched him enter the washrack and rose himself. He did not try to follow his friend, but instead grabbed a bookfile to read until the other mech had finished. This was not anywhere on his list of options when he thought about being with Jazz for the first time, whether it was Jazz's first time or not.

Less than a breem later a snarl of outrage echoed from the washrack and the shower turned off.

Prowl's helm snapped up at the sound and he automatically set the bookfile aside. "Jazz?"

The black and white mech had the snarl etched on his features as he stalked out of the washrack, still wet. His optics fixed on Prowl. "Apparently a hand job from you isn't enough." He grumbled, motioning to his spike, which had pressurized again. "The valve warnings have stopped, but this is still active with first time protocols."

Prows stood and moved towards Jazz. "How do wish to handle it?"

Jazz made an exasperated sound. "Like I even know the options. Whatever makes it easiest for you to stop me if I freak out."

Prowl hummed. "I do not think you are a significant danger to me in this instance. In addition, you retaining control may lessen the chances of you reacting badly." He reached up to cup Jazz's cheek as he leaned in and brushed his lips against the younger mech's. Trust was in his field, a trust that was little easier to gain than a Spec Ops' mech's trust.

A soft purr of Jazz's engine answered as Jazz relaxed into the contact. "What do I need to do, for you to be ready?" he asked softly, uneasy with admitting to being so clueless.

Prowl guided him back to the berth. "Start with touching, kissing. Like how we did earlier."

Jazz nodded his understanding as he knelt on the berth, watching as Prowl sat. With his uncertainty showing, he leaned over to kiss the other black and white, his hands stroking down the hood of the police cruiser's alt.

Prowl moaned softly in encouragement, his hands running softly down Jazz's sides. He could feel the protocol driven arousal in Jazz, so different in sensation to honest arousal because of Jazz's displeasure at it. Yet his friend offered no complaint as he circled Prowl's headlights with his thumbs, then moved down to caress abdominal plates.

He made soft noises of pleasure, letting Jazz know when he hit more sensitive places. He leaned up, lips brushing against Jazz's again. The kiss was willingly returned as Jazz's hands returned to the spots that received the best feedback. Prowl could feel the fact that Jazz wasn't out to pleasure him for the enjoyment of it, yet his friend _was_ making a distinct effort to at least make this an acceptable interface.

The spot that gave the best response was when Jazz went back to his doorwings. He gasped, the appendages trembling at the touch.

 _That_ finally garnered a bit of real interest in Jazz, though it was purely inquisitive ... and a shadow of something darker. But those hands were nothing but gentle in their contact, stroking and exploring.

Prowl moaned louder, his optics shutting off as he pressed into those hands. Suddenly magnetic pulses swept through them, triggering sensors deep inside the sensitive panels.

Prowl's mouth dropped open in a cry that never came, pleasure-desire spiking wildly through his field.

"Could you overload from this?" Jazz's voice was curious, but also affected by the intensity of Prowl's field. "Would you _like_ that?"

"Yes," Prowl managed to gasp, and twisted to better present the doorwings to Jazz. "Please."

With a curious hum Jazz turned the mag pulses up a notch and continued to stroke. Watching Prowl begin to lose himself to the pleasure while remaining safely outside it, only feeling through their mingled fields, felt good. He was _enjoying_ it, and so was his partner.

Was this the point of those games Mirage played? Was it what got his lover off, not what got _him_ off?

Prowl was already no longer able think, only react to the pleasure Jazz was causing to course through his system. It was very obvious now why Prowl allowed very few even near to his doorwings. It also gave Jazz insight into just what he was doing to Prowl all those vorns of random touching.

He'd always assumed the doorwings were ticklish, since he knew it didn't hurt. It was all his pre-interfacing protocols could associate with the reaction he got.

Now though, now he grasped the kind of tormenting he must have been doing.

There was a hint of apology in Jazz's field as he continued to stroke the doorwings presented to him, alternating the strength of the pulses as he sought out what touches and strengths made Prowl quiver the most.

It wasn't long before the Praxian arched into the touch as he overloaded, crying out as excess energy crackled over his frame. Some of it arched to Jazz, causing him to moan softly as the waves of pleasure rolled through him from Prowl.

Only when the Praxian began to relax did Jazz speak.

"Is that enough for me to spike you?" he asked softly, honestly not sure.

"Almost," Prowl replied, his vents running quickly as he rolled to face Jazz once more. Gently he reached out to take Jazz's hand and bring it down to touch Prowl's valve as the cover snapped open. "Need more lubricant flowing. Touch will help."

Black fingers, precise enough to disarm a bomb by feel slid around the platelets, repeating the touches Prowl had used on him. As he felt slickness seep out he moved further in, cautious and intent on causing pleasure as he leaned forward to kiss Prowl again, sliding his glossa along the Praxian's lip plates.

Prowl's lips parted with a soft sound of pleasure, drawing in the glossa and rubbing it with his own. His hands moved to Jazz's sides to hold him close, fingers twitching every time Jazz found a sensor to stroke.

Jazz broke the kiss gently, rather pleased with himself so far. This part was definitely enjoyable. "Tell me when you're ready," he murmured before kissing Prowl again.

Prowl returned the kiss, letting Jazz dominate, but still teaching. Soon his hips were rocking into Jazz's hand as lubricant thickly coated his fingers.

"Ready," he gasped into his lover's mouth.

Jazz drew away a bit, almost reluctant to do what he had to. He looked at Prowl expectantly, uncertain what position was desired. He could think of two and he was sure there were many more.

"Let's go basic," Prowl said softly, laying back and spreading his legs. He gently pulled Jazz close, into position. "Line your spike up with my valve and press in slowly."

The nod he received was of careful focus more suited to a classroom than a lover's berth. Yet as Jazz used feel as much as sight to line up and press the tip inside Prowl until it would guide itself, his touch was electric for Prowl.

Jazz optics and visor turned off as he moaned at the sensations, so much more intense than feeling Prowl overload through mingled fields.

Prowl groaned in pleasure as Jazz began to slide in, stretching the valve walls. He gently pulled up the hand Jazz had been touching him with and drew the coated fingers in his mouth, slowly sucking them clean.

The next moan from Jazz was deeper. He pressed his hips forward until they were flush with Prowl's, the link between what Prowl was doing to his fingers and what was happening to his spike was unmistakable and made his hips rock and roll against Prowl's.

Prowl moaned around the fingers, his valve rippling around Jazz's spike in pleasure. He let the fingers fall from his mouth long enough to say, "Pull back until just the tip is inside me, then thrust back in."

Jazz focused and nodded, drawing his hips back and pressing forward, still a bit cautious as he got a feel for distance and limits. Soon each motion was full and hard, driving into Prowl with enough strength to rock their frames.

The pleasure in Prowl's field and the sounds that were pulled from his vocalizer were enough to tell Jazz that he was on the right path. Prowl's hips surged up into each thrust to take the spike in as deep as possible. The older mech still had the other's fingers in his mouth, timing his movements to match those of Jazz's hips.

When a tingling heat coiled just above his spike, deep inside his pelvic girdle, Jazz pulled his helm back, afraid he'd bite down as the intensely pleasurable tingling reached the point where it began to trip alarms and feel more like pain. Yet that was also the point where Jazz no longer had enough control over his own frame to stop, or even give directions.

This time Jazz was minimally aware of himself as the overload exploded across his circuits, driving his hips forward to grind against Prowl's as hot fluid surged out of his spike, triggering yet more sensors along the entire channel. He knew he made a sound, and while internally it was of panic and pain with a shadow of pleasure, he had no idea what it sounded like to someone who knew overloads. It wasn't like whatever he'd sounded like the last two times that had disturbed the Praxian.

Prowl groaned as his hips locked against Jazz's, the younger mech's overload triggering his own.

He sighed as his frame relaxed, arms loosely wrapping around Jazz's waist. After a few moments of quiet, he nuzzled Jazz's cheek and asked quietly, "Still triggered the negative reactions?"

"A little less, but it doesn't hurt any less," Jazz murmured. He wasn't exactly happy where he was, but he couldn't think of a reason worth moving either. If this made Prowl feel good, he was willing for tonight.

"Hurt how?" Prowl frowned slightly at that wording.

Jazz cocked his helm as he tried to work out the answer, grateful to feel his spike retract and the last of the 'you need to interface' notices turn off.

"The same way plugging into a generator at full power does," Jazz picked a description he hoped Prowl could relate to.

"Ah," Prowl replied, his expression clearing. "Most would interpret it as intense pleasure, rather than pain. The two are very similar. It is normal."

Jazz simply shrugged and nodded. "At least it seems to be over with," he gave a sigh of relief before shifting to sit up, testing his systems and feedback to make sure everything was working the way it should. "Sorry it wasn't what you were hoping for."

Prowl's arms fell away as the other black-and-white moved. "You could not have helped it," he replied, accepting Jazz's reactions as an unforseen, but ultimately normal.

Jazz managed a smile and patted Prowl's leg. "Thank you, for this, and for not speaking of it," he said sincerely before standing to try cleaning up again. It felt _good_ to have his protocols and systems normal again. "Want help with your back?" he asked, an offer that they had extended each other many times. While they didn't have the trouble some mecha did, it was always easier to have someone else wash your back.

"It was an honor to be chosen," Prowl replied, returning the smile with a small one of his own. "It would be appreciated, thank you." Prowl stood and followed his friend to his private washrack. It was not at all what he had imagined, or what he had hoped for, but at least Jazz didn't seem to blame him for anything. His friend was still his friend, and Prowl would remain grateful for that.

* * *

The next day found Prowl back at his desk in his normal routine. There were always reports to be read and compiled, schedules to be organized, and battle plans to create and perfect.

After they had finished in the washracks, Jazz had left for his own berth to recharge for the night. His greeting when Prowl had gotten his morning energon had been completely normal, as if they had only spent the previous night playing strategy games or watching some human video Jazz had insisted on. To be honest, Prowl had not been expecting a difference, and would have been surprised if Jazz had begun behaving differently towards him.

Near midmorning, Ratchet pinged him with a medical response code included. It was not a call to ignore.

Prowl opened up the comm line. "Yes, Ratchet?"

"I'd like to see you in my office," the CMO said, his voice unnaturally neutral.

"Of course. I will be there shortly," Prowl replied before closing the comm line. He stood and left his office, curious as to what the medic could want. There had been no unusual injuries or infractions lately that would be the normal cause for such a discussion. The only unusual condition, if you could call it such, was Jazz's interface protocols, and that was settled without injuries.

The medbay was quiet when he entered, First Aid and Swoop doing minor maintenance and verbally quizzing each other. Each gave Prowl a polite greeting but nothing more. Obviously they knew he had been summoned.

Ratchet's office door slid open at Prowl's approach, admitting the SIC.

"Thank you," Ratchet motioned Prowl to sit on a visitor's chair and waited for the door to close and audibly lock before speaking again. "I understand that Jazz chose you for his first interface?"

Prowl nodded as he took his seat, and tilted his helm curiously at the lock, but accepted it as Ratchet asked his question. "Yes, he did."

"How did it go?" Ratchet was in full medic mode, his expression serious.

Prowl was silent for a moment before he spoke, equally serious. "He experienced some fear at the loss of control over himself, and interpreted the intense sensations as pain rather than pleasure, but given those considerations it did not go bad at all."

Ratchet made a face before sighing. "He must trust you a _lot_ ," he murmured softly. "I have to admit I was expecting a panicked comm from Jazz last night and to spend most of today putting you back together. Jazz isn't the first Op I've been around when their interface protocols turned on so late in life."

"His reaction is normal for SpecOps, then?" Prowl queried, curious.

"Regrettably, yes," Ratchet sighed. "If they haven't learned to associate overload with pleasure and a good thing before they go SpecOps, not many learn to tolerate it. Even those that do ... well, none are very healthy about it. Are you inclined to peruse a relationship with him?"

"Not actively. I would not object if he wished to pursue one, however. I do enjoy his company," Prowl replied.

Ratchet nodded and settled. "If it does happen, come talk to me. There are things that can make it go smoother."

Prowl tilted his helm in acceptance of the offer. "Is there anything else you wished to discuss?"

"Discuss, no," the CMO considered Prowl critically. "I will say that I think you'd be good for Jazz. Of his choices, you're one that might manage to teach him how to enjoy it."

Prowl nodded, and stood. "I will return to my duties, then."

* * *

"Hay Blaster, want to grab some energon and check out the latest releases?" Jazz asked his friend cheerfully as they left the commander center after shift.

"Sounds great, m'man!" Blaster replied with a wide grin, clapping Jazz on the shoulder as they walked towards the rec room, chatting about this, that and nothing of importance to anyone else on the Ark.

Blaster waited until they had their energon and were sitting down to drink it before he asked what he was curious about. "So, how was your evening with Prowl?" His optics flashed with the slightest bit of arousal at the idea.

"Well enough," Jazz shrugged, pointedly ignoring the arousal. "It's over with."

"You looking for someone else to share a berth with, then?" Blaster asked, the thought that he would be a willing berthmate clear in his voice.

"No," Jazz said firmly. The flash of his visor an open warning that pressing forward was not a safe idea.

Blaster paused at that, and dropped the subject. "So, what's the newest music out?"

"Stars of the Shattering started streaming Killer Mind this morning," Jazz happily jumped on the much more comfortable topic.

Blaster nodded enthusiastically. "Heard that one. Awesome beat!"

"That is does," Jazz grinned back, relaxing again. If the rest of his time off went this smoothly, everything would be back to normal within the week, just over half an orn. "Did you catch the latest broadcast from Cybertron? Sparktwister is back and they're as good as I remember. Amazing the entire band survived this long."

"Really? I hadn't heard! I tried to get to as many of their shows I could back then!" Blaster's optics shone with glee. "What's their latest?"

"Hope in Vacancy," Jazz databurst his copy. It was of the limited quality one got off the transmission, rather than the pristine, full harmonic one you got when you bought it, but it was still a joy to a music lover so far from home. "Man, those mechs have the right idea. We have Cybertron back. It'll be generations before space or resources will be a consideration again once all the factories are repaired and the energon production up to snuff."

Blaster hummed happily as he listened to the copy. "That's good stuff. Gotta get the official."

"As soon as we can," Jazz agreed even as he portioned the cost of it from his 'entertainment' budget from his pay.

As they continued to discuss new music, Smokescreen entered the room, fresh from a planning session with Prowl and Trailbreaker, and headed to grab his own cube of energon. Jazz looked over and waved a greeting, as he did with everyone.

Smokescreen waved back, heading over to join them as soon as he had his cube. "How are you two doing?"

"Good, man," Jazz grinned, relaxed and happy as he sipped his cube. "I see you finally escaped the tactical room."

"Oh yes. Prowl was running us as hard as he ever does," Smokescreen replied, eyeing Jazz over his cube.

The Ops mech grunted his understanding and pretended not to notice the look he was getting. "In one of his moods, was he?"

"Just not as relaxed as we thought he'd be," Smokescreen's reply was light. "I was sure he'd have worn himself out completely last night if he did it right."

Jazz simply shrugged. "You should know Prowl better by now. He doesn't relax at work."

"That is true," the brightly painted Praxian conceded. His optics roamed over Jazz's frame appreciatively.

"Did I miss a mark?" Jazz asked from behind his own cube, feigning misunderstanding of the look he was getting. "Everybody's been looking at me weird today."

Across from him Blaster tried not to choke, well aware that Jazz knew _exactly_ what Smokescreen was trying for.

"No, you didn't. You just look very good," Smokescreen purred.

Finally Jazz looked like he was meeting Smokescreen's optics. "Thanks ... but not the way you mean, I don't think."

"What way to you mean it, then?" he asked.

"I'm not interested in another berthmate," Jazz said the literally truth, knowing full well it could be misinterpreted. With the show Prowl had given in the rec room the day before, it was very likely most would assume he'd stay with Prowl.

"Not even for some variety?" Smokescreen tilted his helm.

"I'm content with things as they are," Jazz said firmly. "So no, not even for some variety."

"Prowl's a lucky mech," the blue and red Praxian finally replied.

Jazz simply shrugged. "Did you want to join the conversation, or were you here to hit on me?"

"What were you two discussing?" Smokescreen replied, not answering Jazz's question directly.

"What else? The latest music," Blaster smothered a smirk at how effectively Jazz had shot the other mech down.

"Is there anything based in the more classical forms?" the Praxian asked.

"Not in this orn's broadcast," Jazz shook his helm. "Maybe next orn. A lot of stuff's being recovered."

* * *

Prowl slowly relaxed as he set up the game board in his quarters for his and Jazz's regular meeting. Two cubes of energon sat to the side, waiting for the other mech to arrive. His friend had been twitchy for a couple days now, and Prowl hoped that Jazz would _talk_ to him over their game.

The ping at the door was pure politeness; Prowl had long ago given Jazz the code. There was little point of trying to keep the saboteur out; Jazz got into anything he wanted to.

Prowl didn't even have to look to know that whatever had been bothering Jazz still was when he stepped inside. The smile and easy gate did nothing to fool the tactician.

The tactician nodded to the energon, indicating for the other mech to help himself. "How has your day been?"

"It went fine," Jazz shrugged and sat down across from his friend. "A full half of the crew has already tried to get in my berth," he grumbled.

Prowl hummed thoughtfully as he looked across at Jazz, waiting for his friend to make the opening move. "Most wish to experiment and interface a great deal when their protocols activate. The crew likely believes this would be true of you as well."

"Yeah, I got that from some of them," Jazz made a face as he shifted uneasily. "I kinda have a favor to ask...."

"What is it?" Prowl tilted his helm curiously. Jazz so rarely asked for a _real_ favor.

"I didn't intend it, but it seemed like a lot of them took my refusal as being exclusive with you," Jazz muttered. "I'm not asking you to change your dating habits, just ... back me up if anyone asks you?"

Prowl nodded, then thought about it for a moment. "Since I am not involved with anyone at the moment, it would not change anything anyways. Perhaps if we made a greater appearance of it, they would back off entirely."

"What do you have in mind?" Jazz tried not to tense.

"Merely behaving a bit more as if we were paired up when with the rest of the crew, taking our energon together more often, sitting together more, actions of that nature." Prowl assured him. "The crew would not expect any obvious public displays from me."

Jazz relaxed slightly. "I think I can do that," he smiled playfully. "It's not like I mind spending time with ya."

"Nor I you," Prowl smiled back, pleased to see his friend relaxing and that things were normal even in private. "And it is your turn."

"What _are_ your normal dating habits, anyway?" Jazz asked as he moved a piece. "I'm serious that I don't want to hold you back just to cover for me."

"I haven't been comfortable seeking anything more intimate either seriously or recreationally since accepting this position," Prowl replied as he made his move. "I had a few serious relationships before that, though none that worked out."

Jazz cycled his optics in surprise. "It's been a while, then. Was ... was I your last attempt?"

Prowl was silent a moment before replying. "Yes, thought not the reason I stopped. I hadn't asked anyone for a long while before I asked you either."

Jazz made a move without really paying attention. Tonight wasn't a game he'd win anyway. "Why me? Why then? Couldn't you tell my protocols weren't active yet?"

Prowl's attention wasn't fully on the game either, but that was often when his battle computer took over playing. He ended up shrugging his doorwings after he moved his piece. "You were and are my friend, and it seemed a natural extension of the time you were insisting on spending with me outside of our duties. As far as telling that your protocols weren't active... There was nothing in your ID ping to say they weren't."

"Another Ops mod," Jazz muttered, the list of those he knew about increasing sharply for the first time in centuries. "Sorry. It was already too late then, anyway."

Prowl nodded. "Not that you could have helped it."

"Not really," Jazz sighed. "Ops was still better than my other choices, if you care to call them choices," he shrugged. "You thought I was trying to hit on you, by being your friend?"

"Not precisely. Most of my previous relationships had evolved out of friendships, and the few recreational encounters I had had were with mechs whom I was friends with." Prowl replied.

Jazz nodded with an inarticulate murmur and moved a piece. "Did I ever tell you how grateful I've been to have you as a friend?" He glanced up, meeting Prowl's optics. "I can count on one hand the number of _friends_ that are still functioning."

Prowl held his gaze, so Jazz could see the truth in his optics. "It is mutual. My friends have never been numerous, and they dwindled as I rose in the ranks."

"Real friends don't care about rank," Jazz said firmly, his expression stern. "They're family that choose you."

"It was as much my fault," Prowl shrugged. "I spent more and more time on my duties and less keeping up with friendships."

A nod and sad sound accepted the statement. "Part of why I decided to stick my nose where it didn't belong," he managed a small smile. "Someone had to make sure our CTO didn't lose track of the reason we fight. Turned out pretty quick that you were a good friend in your own right."

Prowl reached out and gave Jazz's hand a squeeze. "Thank you."

The smile in reply turned forced as Jazz had to turn a lot of attention at suppressing the surge of still-confusing desire the contact brought. Still, Jazz squeezed back. He was _not_ going to allow these damn protocols to frag up one of the few really good things in his existence.

Prowl pretended not to notice Jazz's internal struggle and held on a moment longer. Then he turned his attention back to the game, making a move.

"How long did it take for your protocols to stop torturing you?" Jazz finally sighed, his gaze focused on the game and not the mech that made his frame do such screwed up things to him.

"The most acute symptoms started to ease after a vorn, but it was a century before my systems began to adapt and returned to a state resembling normal," Prowl replied, anticipating the grimace and low sound of misery that escaped his friend.

"That's a _long_ time here," Jazz muttered darkly, his frame slumping. "At this rate I'll have to take myself off field work, and we _can't_ afford that."

Prowl hummed sympathetically. "How did you get into Ops so young?" he asked curiously.

Jazz cocked his helm. "I wasn't about to be in the neon target that was an orphan center and it sounded better than being a grunt. I couldn't forge the records for anything that my background would be looked at more closely. What Command worked out when you were tactical SIC anyone on the streets knew _very_ well before the war officially started."

Prowl made an understanding, but sad, noise. "I am sorry that you had such an unfavorable set of choices."

"For the few of us lucky enough to survive, it's been an opportunity like nothing else," Jazz said softly, playing with a piece in his fingers absently. "Could you imagine a homeless, functionless mecha getting this close to the Prime before the war?"

"That may be true, but it does not mean the situation was necessarily good," Prowl replied equally softly.

"No," Jazz murmured, setting the piece down. "As long as we're playing dig up the past, how'd you end up here?"

"Originally I was studying to become a teacher." Prowl sat back as he thought about a part of his life that he rarely had cause to remember. "When the war started I switched the focus of my studies in order to assist."

Jazz's visor brightened in surprise. "I was an Autobot before you."

Yes, it was a matter of record, but he'd never actually put it together ... and he was proof such things were always of questionable accuracy.

"Quite possibly," Prowl replied.

"What did your creators think of your change in carrier path?" Jazz asked, now curious about the tactician who had begun wanting to be a teacher. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't place the Prowl he knew in front of students by choice.

"They were displeased. I was an only creation, and they wanted me to remain close," Prowl said quietly.

"Turns out that being far away was the safest place to be," Jazz mumbled, then shook himself. "What were you going to teach?"

"General education for younglings," Prowl said. "I was intending to eventually teach in one of the poorer areas, to encourage those whose chances were least."

"It's sad I can't see you doing that," Jazz sounded genuinely mournful. "We're going to need all the educators we can manage if we ever manage to end this mess."

"Even if the war would end in the next megacycle, it is unlikely that I could become an educator anytime soon, if ever. I would be needed with the Prime, and to organize things from the top."

Jazz nodded, then regarded his friend. "Do you _like_ who you've become?"

Prowl paused at that question. "I... had not thought about it."

"Maybe best not to," Jazz shook his helm sharply. "I know better than to ask. It's not like it really matters. We are what we need to be."

"And no one has been unscathed by this war," Prowl added.

"Definitely not," Jazz agreed, thinking to his own small unit. The majority had been younger than he was when recruited. Only Mirage had anything to do with interfacing, though it was hard to tell who simply didn't have active protocols and who was like him and found the experience too traumatic to willingly repeat.

Prowl watched him quietly. "Do you know which of your mechs we still need to keep an optic on?"

"Hard to tell who hasn't been turned on and who just doesn't want to do that again," Jazz shrugged. "I know Mirage has ... partners, if you can call it that. What he does _still_ looks more like torture than interfacing to me. The others ... I'd have to ask."

The SIC nodded. "It might be good to keep tabs on that, if your experience is any indicator."

"I will," Jazz promised. "With things calming down, it'll probably hit a few others."

It was not something he was looking forward to. A century or more with multiple agents not field-worthy made his internals twist and shudder.

Prowl's field automatically reached out, filled with support/reassurance. Jazz's responded on reflex, wanting the comfort only to have every system in him roar with _arousal-desire_ , then _fear-memory pain_ a nanoklik later.

The older mech looked at him in concern, but didn't speak as Jazz struggled to get his systems until control. The fear and pain faded quickly, the arousal taking longer ... long enough for Jazz's fans to kick on.

"Jazz?" he asked softly, the other mech's arousal causing his own to rise.

A soft whine escaped Jazz as he struggled, the returned arousal causing his to spike again until he jerked backwards, stumbling to his pedes and pulling his field in close despite its best efforts to reach out and caress Prowl.

"I _hate_ this," Jazz eventually snarled in pure frustration.

"I do not doubt that," Prowl replied. The one thing he could do to ease Jazz's arousal was one that Jazz would not accept. Watching his friend be tormented when the answer was so simple was a torment itself, even more so because Prowl was keenly aware of just how much it took to break Jazz's self control and the mask he wore by reflex.

Several deep intakes of air later and Jazz eased himself in his seat again, his field pulled almost painfully tight against his frame.

"I think I'd rather go through basic Ops training again than this," Jazz muttered.

"Most would be surprised to hear that," Prowl said lightly.

Jazz huffed. "At least the training had a _purpose_ , even if it has a seventy percent fatality rate."

Prowl's doorwings flared in shock at that statistic. "...Seventy percent?"

The reaction made Jazz pause, then shrug. "Yeah, give or take. We do include the first solo mission in training. Part of the reason those of us who make it are so _good_."

"Still, that is very high," Prowl said quietly.

"It's losses to training or losses in the first vorn, either way, we'd lose them," Jazz murmured. "It's part of Ops. What would the loss rate in grunts be if their first vorn of battlefield experience was included? We just take the losses in training."

Instinctively, Prowl reached out to touch the back of Jazz's hand, sorrow touching his field at the thought of so many losses.

A sharp gasp came from Jazz as his body forgot all about the serious conversation and twisted his hand to capture Prowl's. With that much contact he made a strangled sound and damn near launched himself at Prowl as he pulled the slightly larger mech towards him with a frantic surge of _need-want-arousal_ in his field.

Just as quickly, Prowl had Jazz down on the floor and tried to pin him. His own field answered the _arousal-want_ , though not as strongly, as Prowl hissed in his audio, "Jazz!"

A whine of misery answered as Jazz's processors fought hard with his frame. Field and frame both rubbed against Prowl's, seeking the release of overload, the pleasure of a good interface. Only the distress on Jazz's face kept it from being a wanton action, the very normal way a young mech reacted to friendly contact in this stage.

It was that distress that stopped Prowl from giving in to his own body's desire to "help". He wanted to bury his spike in Jazz's valve and pound him into the floor, but even more he wanted Jazz _eager_ and _willing_ , neither of which the other mech was at this time.

"A century?" Jazz groaned at the sensations coursing through him. He wouldn't make it if this was any example. Why couldn't those damn protocols remain dormant? He'd had a _good_ existence without them on.

The only way he knew how to master sensations he shouldn't be able to control was to endure them repeatedly until they had no shock value to his systems. Torture was torture, and there was only one way to be able to endure and defy it ... to experience it in all its terrible glory and variation.

He turned his helm to kiss Prowl's jaw and slid his valve cover open. "I need to learn how to control this."

Prowl trembled above him, his own self-control wavering. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Jazz answered firmly, this time finding Prowl's lips for the kiss. "Please. I trust you."

Prowl melted into the kiss, deepening it. "Alright," he murmured before kissing Jazz again. His spike was released, though he ignored it for the moment. Instead one hand slid down, fingers stroking the platelets around Jazz's valve.

The moan this time was of hot desire, low and rich as Jazz spread his knees and rocked into the contact. His valve was already slick, pearls of lubricant dripping to the floor when Prowl's fingers disturbed the surface tension holding it in place.

Prowl groaned at how slick he was, and pulled his hand back up. He grabbed Jazz's legs, wrapping them around his waist as he kissed Jazz, glossa demanding entrance in the younger mech's mouth. It was granted, Jazz's frame relaxing in anticipation. Until that last moment, it _did_ feel incredibly good, and he _trusted_ Prowl. Prowl wouldn't actually harm him, even if it hurt.

It was the same trust he'd had in his Ops mentor, Whiplash. Pain was transient, it could be controlled. What needed to happen could hurt, but Jazz trusted he would not be _harmed_.

Prowl kissed him deeply, glossa stroking against glossa, and sank his spike in the other's valve. He paused for a moment while he was fully sheathed, savoring the feeling of the other's tight, slick hot valve around his spike. The lining rippled, stroking him even as he held still and Jazz moaned into his mouth. The Praxian began rocking his hips, thrusting into Jazz slowly, gently. He groaned into the other's mouth, glossa matching the movement of parts much lower.

The low keen that escaped Jazz was of bliss, his field wrapping around Prowl in an awkward mix of great skill at sharing fields and cluelessness at what he was trying to share now.

Prowl's field entwined with his, sharing pleasure. He pulled his face back just enough to move down to nuzzle and lick at Jazz's neck, his hips continuing their steady movements.

Jazz's hands found his back, stroking and digging into seams sporadically as his pleasure built almost too fast to track. It felt so _good_ right now, his entire frame working Prowl's in a dance Jazz didn't understand, but could improv well.

Prowl nipped at Jazz's neck before soothing it with his tongue, his thrusts becoming more powerful. Pleasure flared with each thrust, and with each time Jazz found sensors.

It was all Jazz could take. Sensations that had been pleasure rushed through him, smothering him as he screamed in the mindless state of a sharp, fast overload.

Prowl gasped as he felt it through Jazz's field, but it wasn't enough to send him over the edge. He moaned and trembled when Jazz's hips ground up against him, recovering almost too fast, but at least he wasn't panicking. At least not like the first time.

His hips began to pound into Jazz, harder and faster. He gasped into Jazz's neck, hands finding sensitive seams to dig into.

Jazz clung to him, gasps, cries and keens escaping him as he rocked into his lover's thrusts. It felt so damn good. Better than anything else, addictively good. And like any addiction, the payoff in the end was pain.

Jazz had beaten addictions before, learned to endure both mental and psychological torture, even leaned to turn it on his torturer. He could _do_ this. Take the overload enough times and it would be relegated to the same place as pain.

Only this pain had a build up of intense pleasure.

The build up was even faster this time as pleasure spiraled high. Prowl could only give in to his body's need to move, harder, faster, deeper. One hand changed the tilt of Jazz's hips ever so slightly, trying to hit new sensors. It wasn't long before Prowl was gasping, teetering on the edge.

Under him Jazz shuddered, trembling on the edge himself. His valve squeezed and rippled, trying to draw more of a charge, but it was a moment of managing to think that brought one of Jazz's hands up to stroke a mag-pulse along a doorwing.

That action shoved Prowl over the cliff, falling into the bliss of an intense overload. His spike was buried as deep in Jazz's valve as it could go as it shot hot transfluid into the other mech. The release of Prowl's charge was enough for Jazz's systems, pushing the shaking mech into a second overload. His hands gripped Prowl tightly as he spun out of control and struggled to come to terms with it.

Prowl sighed as his body relaxed when the overload ebbed, going strutless as he wound around Jazz. He nuzzled up to Jazz's mouth, kissing him slowly, tenderly, ignoring the lingering echo of unpleasant sensations in Jazz's field.

Gradually Jazz began to kiss back. It was a contact he could enjoy fully for the pleasure it brought, as it wasn't going to end in pain and a brief panic each time.

The kisses remained light as Prowl cuddled up to the other black and white. They would have to get off the floor soon, but Prowl was content where he was for the moment. So was Jazz, really. At least until he began to _feel_ Prowl still inside him. It was simply too weird a sensation outside the heat of passion not to squirm about. It wasn't unpleasant, the parts were meant to go together after all, but _weird_.

"Getting uncomfortable?" Prowl asked, starting to pull back and retracting his spike.

"More weird," Jazz murmured. Yet he was still grateful to have the intrusion removed. Natural or not, he wasn't the least bit used to it and still wasn't convinced it was worth it.

"Do you wish to move to another location?"

"Washrack, get cleaned up," Jazz murmured, almost embarrassed. He knew it wasn't what Prowl had in mind. "Maybe the berth afterwards."

Prowl nodded. "Would you like some assistance in the washracks?"

There was a brief pause, and Jazz nodded. "I need to get used to touch again."

"Alright." Prowl rose carefully, offering a hand to assist Jazz up. It was taken, and held as they walked to Prowl's washrack, more grateful than ever of the luxury the Praxian's rank afforded them.

Jazz's field was an odd mixture of sated contentment and unease; a match for what he was feeling. The slosh of transfluid from his valve had nearly freaked him out, now the dribble of it down the inside of his legs was just unpleasant.

The rain of hot solvent brought a groan of relief, wiping away liquid traces of their act and filling Jazz's senses with the reminders of _clean_ and _safe_.

Prowl grabbed a cloth and soap, and began running the two over Jazz's plating. His touch was firm, knowing, and his field was full of contentment as he cleaned Jazz with his normal meticulous attention to detail.

It was attention that Jazz melted into, moaning softly in pleasure at the familiar, safe contact. Even this felt so much _better_ than before. The new protocols were trying to interpret it as a request for more interfacing and wanted to agree, and he cursed them again in silence.

But it still felt _good_.

Once Prowl was finished with Jazz's back, he moved around to Jazz's front. He lightly kissed Jazz before he started washing the other mech's chest, working his way down.

That drew a ragged moan from Jazz as his helm fell back and he swayed, the arousal spiking higher. Primus! He was really thinking, and getting turned on, by the idea of baring his _spark_ to Prowl?

Prowl knelt and placed on hand on Jazz's waist to steady the other mech as he continued to work. The hand holding the cloth moved on down to wash Jazz's abdomen. Jazz wavered and reached out to brace himself against the wall in front of him, his ventilations coming faster.

By the time Prowl finished his abdomen, Jazz's spike had freed itself of his efforts to keep it concealed and was standing hard and proud, demanding Prowl's attention.

Attention Prowl was all too willing to give it. He nuzzled the base of the spike before slowly licking it out to the tip.

Jazz shuddered, moaning softly as his vents hitched. It felt _so_ good at this stage, it made him regret than an overload would spoil the pleasure at the end. His field reached out for Prowl's, offering to share the pleasure being given to him.

Prowl's field entwined with Jazz's, offering in return the Praxian's enjoyment at giving his lover such pleasure. His mouth closed around the spike tip and he sucked. Then he slowly worked his way down the spike, pausing every little bit to suck, until his faceplates were against the other's groin.

By then Jazz had lost all resistance to the idea of another overload. The build-up felt too good once Prowl began to touch him.

And _this_ ... oh Primus this felt amazing. A hand had been good. Prowl's valve amazing. This ... this was beyond words for Jazz. He could only moan, gasp and try to express how much he was enjoying the attention through his field.

Prowl worked his glossa and throat around the spike, lavishing it, before pulling his helm back and sliding back down the spike.

Jazz keened, his helm dropping back and most of his weight supported by outstretched hands as he lost himself in the sensations.

Prowl continued to move his mouth and glossa around the spike, his entire focus on bringing Jazz pleasure. He could feel, even taste, how effective this was. Jazz trembled and moaned, his hips rocking in a slightly uncoordinated effort to participate.

Suddenly his hips jerked forward and his fingers clawed against the washrack wall as the charge began reach the pinnacle, just before he'd fall over the edge.

Prowl hummed around the spike, letting the sound vibrate through his body into Jazz's through the sensitive appendage. It was all it took.

Jazz screamed in the mixture of bliss, pain and distress that was becoming familiar to them both.

Yet as he easily swallowed the spurts of hot, thick transfluid, the tactician noted with a mixture of pride and hope that with each overload the distress was a little less. Prowl remained in place until all tension had run out of his lover's frame. He slowly pulled off of Jazz's spike, licking it clean as he did, then stood and wrapped his arms around the other mech.

Without hesitation Jazz melted into the embrace, grateful to no longer need to support himself. He nuzzled Prowl, murmuring wordless sounds in his state of limited coherency. He really, really just wanted to press close to the warm strength holding him and never move again.

Yes, Jazz could be content with that. To drift into recharge right here and never wake up.

Prowl made a soft sound of contented amusement and turned off the solvent spray. He then picked Jazz up and carried the other mech back into the main room and to the berth. He laid Jazz on the berth, joining him quickly with an affectionate nuzzle. His lover squirmed and turned, settling only when his back was pressed against the wall and almost blindly seeking to pull Prowl against him before recharge took him fully.

Prowl allowed himself to be pulled close, cuddling up to Jazz and slipping into recharge himself, one leg thrown over the other mech's.

* * *

The first thing Prowl had done when he arrived at his office in the morning was to send Ratchet a message requesting a meeting with him. Now he was heading towards the Medical Bay to hear what suggestions the CMO had for dealing with Jazz's Ops hangups with interfacing. He had some hope of lessening Jazz's dislike of overloads, based upon how the Ops mech had reacted last night.

He stepped into the office to a surprise; Mirage was standing near the far wall, looking anything but pleased to be there and glaring silent death towards the CMO, who didn't care about his sour look.

"Have a seat," Ratchet motioned to the chair across from him. "Since Mirage interfaces on a fairly regular basis, he's the best source of information possible."

Prowl obediently took the indicated chair. "Very well. What advice do you two have for me?"

Mirage let out a soft sound of displeasure. "First you need to understand how this happened. You are aware that Jazz does a lot of his own protocol and software editing?"

"I am aware he does some, but now how much," Prowl replied.

"A lot," Ratchet grumbled. "A _whole_ lot."

"More than most, really," Mirage admitted. "If a mecha is brought into SpecOps before their interfacing protocols are on line, there are edits made to ensure they never come on line."

"In other words, one of Jazz's edits fragged an important control program," Ratchet rumbled. "Only because of the war, we don't even know how long ago he did it, much less what he did."

Prowl frowned. "That is... disturbing."

Mirage shrugged. "Less unusual than Ratchet would hope, however. We all do most of our own editing. Even when there's a SpecOps medic around, not trusting is part of the nature of those who last very long. It also means that when those protocols turn on, the mech turns to their own kind. He _should_ have come to me. If we were on Cybertron, he would have gone to his mentor, Whiplash. But since he turned to you, you'll need to learn how far from normal he'll always be.

"First, his next edit will always have the potential to turn the interfacing protocols off," Mirage continued. "No matter how long you are together, you can abruptly be with the Jazz as he was before. He'll remember, but he won't respond any more. He won't be _able_ to respond as he does now."

Prowl nodded. "And there is no way to tell when, or if, it will happen."

"Correct," Mirage said. "The next thing is that no matter how well he learns to control his reaction to overloading, it will always be an unpleasant experience. I expect within the vorn he will be able to fool even you. It will not change that it is unpleasant. We have developed protocols and hardware upgrades to make interfacing more agreeable to our nature. Ratchet should install the hardware. The software is already installed, but dormant. It would be best if I guide him in activating it."

"I understand," Prowl replied, tilting his helm.

"Once installed, he will not overload in the conventional sense," Mirage explained. "It will, however, allow a pleasurable peak to happen without the effects that trigger the unpleasantness. That said, the most pleasant experience will be to experience the overload of another through linked fields. It is the most difficult aspect for most to grasp, that bringing another to overload without one is actually the best thing for us. He will be some time in deciding this for himself. It has always proven true."

"How does that affect interfacing?" Prowl asked, wanting to be prepared.

"You will not reciprocate much," Mirage put it more plainly. "You will need to train yourself not to try to make him overload once he stops seeking them. He will bring you to overload, and in your perspective, you will leave him hanging."

"And what about experiences he enjoys that do not directly give me pleasure?" Prowl added, thinking of Jazz's reactions in the shower the night before.

"If he enjoys it, as long as you do not seek to make him overload, it should be good for him," Mirage relaxed fractionally. "I do not know if you have discussed this, but be prepared for Jazz to be extremely possessive of your affections. He may not even be aware of it yet. It will happen. As much as he must trust you to turn to you rather than his own, he will become unusually protective of your attention. Trust is too rare and valuable not to guard with extreme jealousy."

"I will be prepared for it," Prowl said calmly. "What else is there?"

"Even if it's his idea, never, ever, bind him." Mirage said firmly. "We do _not_ need a deactivated SIC and _that_ profile running loose on the Ark."

Prowl nodded, curious but well aware that he likely did not need to know and thus would not be told even if he asked.

"Introduce him to the things that get you revved up," Mirage said. "Once the hardware is installed and software active, let him get a taste of what it feels like to really get someone off without the traditional interfacing. Give him as much control as you dare to. It will push him to adapt more quickly, and it will make it easier for him to accept what is happening to him as a good thing. It is the loss of control and input that is distressing. The more control he has before and after overloading the less likely he is to do something reflexive."

"That is logical," Prowl replied, accepting.

"Any further questions before I drag Jazz in here for the upgrades and lessons?" Ratchet grumbled about what he had to do. It went against his beliefs, but leaving Jazz as he was, that was far worse.

"No, that is all," Prowl replied.

"Then shoo. I have work to do on that crazy mate of yours," Ratchet waved him away.

Prowl stood at that, and left to return to his office and the work within. He had a great deal to process before spending another evening with Jazz.

* * *

Three hours later Jazz poked his helm into Prowl's office, his customary grin in place and his movements seemingly naturally relaxed. "Energon time!" he cheered, actually dancing into the room with two cubes of energon. One landed in front of Prowl while the other remained with Jazz as he sprawled on the guest chair.

Prowl raised an optic ridge at Jazz before setting aside the pad he was working on. "Is it, now?" He watched his friend as he picked up his energon to take a sip, looking for more clues as to the other's state of mind.

"Yap," Jazz grinned cheerfully, a look that usually meant he was up to no good. "You work too much."

"So I have been told, and yet it is what I must do to keep this army running," Prowl replied before taking another drink. "Have you met with Ratchet and Mirage?"

Jazz snorted. "Every time Ratchet puts me under, I have to spend the next metacycle unscrambling all the protocol resets he makes."

The Praxian tilted his helm. "Did you listen to what they had to say?"

Behind the unchanging visor optics narrowed. "What's to listen to? He always wants the same thing."

"This time it is in regards to your interface protocols, and adjusting things so it isn't so unpleasant for you," Prowl replied. "That is why Mirage is involved as well."

"I'm handling it," Jazz retorted more sharply than Prowl expected, then almost immediately sank back in a mute apology for the outburst and focused on his energon. "I haven't hurt you and the worst is over."

"I will not force you," Prowl said softly. "However, it is difficult to witness you in pain and distress over something that should be pleasurable."

Jazz looked up, regarding Prowl for a long moment. "It really bothers you?"

"To cause pain when one's intent is pleasure is rarely perceived well," Prowl replied.

Jazz muttered something unintelligible to that, his field pulling in tight, as did his plating. Suddenly he twisted to his pedes with a muttered apology and nearly fled the room.

Prowl sighed. He hadn't meant to distress Jazz so, but he couldn't help but be honest with his friend.

Less than a breem later his comm pinged with Ratchet's ID.

::Yes?:: he answered the request.

::Just letting you know that whatever you said to Jazz, he's here,:: The CMO sounded impressed. ::So he won't be joining you tonight. Between my work and Mirage's, he'll be indisposed for at least four joors, possibly five.::

::Understood. Please inform me when you two are preparing to release him,:: Prowl replied evenly.

::Sure. You planning to collect him, or just want a warning?:: Ratchet held back a chuckle.

::I was planning on escorting him out, yes,:: Prowl said.

::I'll ping you before I bring him around then. Mirage is talking to him first.::

* * *

Jazz cycled up without any outward sign.

Medbay.

He immediately went about cataloging all the undone edits he'd have to edit back in. Well, at least this time there wouldn't be much of a loss. No matter what his official status was, he and his entire team knew that he was only good for the most basic of rookie level missions. He couldn't even manage some regular duties because he couldn't stand to be touched. He couldn't handle being around mecha with high interface drives.

Pit, he could barely stand to be out of recharge.

"I know you're awake," Ratchet's voice was gentler than usual, which was typically a very bad sigh. "Prowl's here."

He wasn't entirely sure if he found that a good or bad thing, but at least his friend put up with his current state of insanity. Prowl tolerated it better than he did, really.

When he powered up his visor, he saw Prowl standing next to him. His face was in its customary neutral expression, but his field brushed against Jazz's, curious as to the other's state.

Jazz's field reached out to make contact, and he groaned at the rush of desire that crashed through him.

"I thought you said this would make it _better_!" Jazz snarled at Ratchet as he sat up.

"I said it would make the overload less intense," Ratchet snapped back. "Nothing but time will make that reaction settle. There's a _reason_ we don't accept mecha as young as you were. Now both of you scat to Prowl's quarters. Find out if all this was worth the work."

"Come, Jazz," Prowl requested more than said, his voice soft. Against his field Jazz's flared, hot and hungry, and very much at odds with the saboteur's processor. Yet the smaller black and white obediently hopped to his pedes, put on his best happy face, and followed Prowl.

Prowl led him back to his quarters. He didn't appear to be rushing, though the journey took less time than it should have. The door had barely closed when a frustrated and highly aroused Jazz pressed against his back. Black hands found Prowl's doorwings, stroking the sensitive surface.

Prowl groaned, his doorwings instinctively pressing into the touch. "Jaaazz..."

"Sorry," the mech backed off almost instantly. The need was so intense he wasn't thinking. To touch, to be touched. To feel that pleasure again. It was all he could think of.

It _hurt_.

Prowl twisted around, grabbing Jazz's hands and leaned in to kiss him.

Jazz moaned and nearly melted into contact. Arousal flared in his field, causing systems all over his frame to respond in ways he still didn't approve of but was helpless to counter.

Prowl nuzzled Jazz's face when the kiss ended. "Pleasure first, or talk?" He kissed him again.

"Doubt I'll be coherent until this is burned off," Jazz murmured, the frustration and anger tingeing the intense arousal-need in his field. He pressed hard against Prowl, shaking as he struggled to regain control of himself.

Prowl let go of his hands to wrap his own around Jazz's waist, holding the younger mech close. "Take me?" he suggested, offered.

Jazz's vents hitched, the suggestion going right to his spike. With a groan he nudged Prowl backwards. "Berth?" he tried to express his desire. Where the frag had his linguistic skills gone?

"Yes," Prowl replied, easily moving to and falling back on the berth, his legs spreading in invitation. Above him Jazz settled awkwardly, still unaccustomed to the motion or the position. The saboteur's spike was already pressurizing, hard and needy in the way of those with freshly activated protocols.

He leaned forward to kiss Prowl, one hand between them to rub lightly on the valve cover separating him from that intense pleasure of being inside a lover.

Prowl moaned into the kiss, his valve cover opening at his lover's touch. He wove his field with Jazz's, sharing the pleasure of touch as it slid from cover to the soft, sensitive components the cover protected.

"You aren't slick," Jazz murmured, more surprised than anything.

"I'm... not quite as revved up as you are," Prowl admitted, though his hips pressed into the touch, seeking more. "The interfacing protocols mean that you require less stimulation to reach the same level of arousal."

"What do I do, for you?" Jazz looked lost.

"Touch, kiss, explore," Prowl explained patiently, one hand pulling Jazz close enough for a kiss.

Jazz's lips parted, welcoming Prowl's glossa inside. His hands slid down Prowl's chassis until something occurred to him. He drew away slightly and shifted off Prowl's frame. "Roll over. Want your wings," he purred, eager to feel that across their fields again. Getting Prowl off had felt so good, with none of the side effects of his own overload.

Prowl's field flared with _desire-want-YES_ and he eagerly rolled onto his hands and knees, presenting his doorwings for Jazz. He moaned as his doorwings fluttered in anticipation of the other's touch. He felt Jazz's spike rub against his aft as his lover settled behind him, then confident hands slid across the soft back side of each centerline from joint to edge and back.

Prowl groaned, arching into the touches as pleasure roared through his field.

"Feels so good," Jazz moaned, pressing more of himself against Prowl's chassis as his hands roamed along Prowl's doorwings, returning to work his fingers into the joints after each sweep out and back.

Prowl didn't respond verbally, instead he fed Jazz the intense pleasure through his field. He whined, rocking back into Jazz's form. He felt one hand disappear from his doorwing to slide down his back, along his aft and between them to stroke the outer platelets around his valve, testing for slickness.

He was slicker, and a rush of lubricant answered the questing fingers, though still not quite enough for penetration. "Please..."

"Tell me what to do," Jazz pleaded, his hand returning to the doorwing.

"Stroke valve... as well," Prowl managed to gasp out.

The hand disappeared from his doorwing once more, only to press gently, somewhat hesitantly, into the quickly slickening valve. Jazz's free hand continued to stroke Prowl's doorwings, coordinating the movements of his hands so his fingers were in their deepest when the other hand worked a wing-joint.

The Praxian cried out at the dual touch, arching his back and rippling his valve around the dark fingers. It didn't matter how unskilled the touch was, when Jazz _tried_ , he was _good_. The mech's natural sense of timing and rhythm served him well in pleasuring his lover and soon lubricant was dripping out of Prowl's valve.

"Slick enough?" Jazz asked, his voice shaking in his desire to sink his spike into the space his fingers now occupied.

"Yes," Prowl moaned, his optics shutting off to better feel his lover. He squeezed the fingers inside him encouragingly as they were pulled out. For a moment both hands disappeared from his frame, testament to Jazz's inexperience. Then, between the caress of black fingers, the tip of Jazz's spike pressed against his valve entrance.

Slowly Jazz rolled his hips forward, spreading Prowl's valve wide and hilting himself fully in a single motion.

Prowl gasped in pleasure, his hips pressing back instinctively onto the spike. His field flared with pleasure, his valve rippling in welcome around his lover's spike. Jazz's answering surging field was full of _new-bliss-WANT_ , the pleasure not yet to the point that it was distressing.

It all felt so _good_.

Jazz moaned and leaned forward, nearly pressing against Prowl's back as his hips began to move of their own accord and Jazz let them. He brought both hands forward, trusting Prowl to take his off-balanced weight, and returned them to working Prowl's doorwings.

"Feels so good," Jazz shuddered and moaned, welcoming the pleasure even thought he knew how it would end.

Prowl shuddered and moaned. "Very good," he agreed, his voice low and thick with pleasure. He easily accepted Jazz's weight, rocking his hips back in time with Jazz's movements.

Jazz's vents were heavy, washing hot air over Prowl as he humped the Praxian's aft, kneaded doorwing joins and kissed what he could reach of Prowl's back. The building pleasure radiated off him, along with just a touch of anxiety as to what was to come.

Suddenly Jazz keened into a cry of surprised bliss and transfluid flooded into Prowl's valve. Yet Jazz's control of his hands remained, at least somewhat. The _fear-distress_ from before wasn't there, though Prowl could also feel that the overload was much less intense.

Prowl whimpered, pressing back into Jazz's frame. He could feel the overload, the rush of fluid, but it wasn't enough to trip his own. Even as he was tense in overload, Jazz remembered his fingers and dug them into Prowl's doorwing joints, trying to bring his lover to overload.

He pressed into the touch and it took a few more moments, but eventually he tumbled into overload himself, electricity dancing across his field and his valve clamping down on his lover's spike. It didn't matter that it had depressurized slightly and wasn't moving; Jazz had remained buried as he focused on Prowl's doorwings.

The additional stimulation drew a soft moan from Jazz, his systems cycling up reflexively at the rush of energy and pleasure. He continued to knead the doorwing joins, his touch growing softer as Prowl began to relax.

Slowly, Jazz leaned foreword to lie against Prowl's back. He kissed his lover's neck, still panting lightly.

"Thank you," Jazz whispered.

"You're welcome," Prowl replied softly, one hand reaching back awkwardly to hold the other mech close as he was nuzzled, both of them coming down gradually. Slowly, gently, he allowed his knees to slide back, allowing their frames to sink onto the berth.

Gently Jazz pulled out of him and slid to the side, content to remain curled against Prowl's side as recharge protocols pinged for activation.

Prowl shifted to hold him closer, and nuzzled his cheek. "Recharge. We'll talk tomorrow," he murmured.

* * *

Prowl booted up at his normal time to the ping of his internal alarm. He allowed his body to power up as normal, not rushing through the standard procedures. When his optics powered up, he was looking at the front of Jazz's helm. He tilted his face down, and was content to watch the recharging mech's visage for a time.

Jazz was a lovely mech, almost always smiling and trying to lift the spirits of others. He did that function well, nearly as well as he did what he'd been molded and trained to do.

Not for the first time Prowl wondered what Jazz would have been like if circumstance hadn't forced him into Ops. Would he even be a mecha that Prowl might recognize? As much as he didn't care for the thought of not knowing Jazz, he doubted that Jazz, unmarked by the war, would be a Jazz he could correlate with the one resting so peacefully on top of him.

Prowl's hand came up unbidden, moving to touch the sleeping mech's face. However he hesitated, then pulled it away without touching that cheek. A peaceful Jazz was too rare to disturb. Jazz likely needed the recharge as well ... though what really struck Prowl was the realization of just how much Jazz must trust him. Not just to come to him for his first interface, but to recharge in Prowl's arms and remain in recharge even after Prowl was fully awake.

The knowledge that this mech trusted him so much just made him all the more beautiful.

All too soon Jazz's systems began to power up. It was nearly silent, a common modification in Ops to aid in faking still being unconscious and not draw attention to the fact he was booting up. It was a mod that Prowl had for much the same reason after experiencing how useful it would be when he'd been captured early in the war, long before he was a senior officer.

"Mornin'." Jazz mumbled, snuggling closer.

"Good morning," Prowl replied, smiling softly at him. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I'd be extremely content to have the world end right now," he purred softly, not making any inclination to move.

"Very good," Prowl rumbled quietly.

Jazz hummed his agreement, the sound soft but the vibration deep and resonant within their frames.

Prowl nuzzled him softly, content to stay there. After a long moment where Jazz nearly managed to drift back into recharge, he spoke again. "How were you feeling yesterday?"

"Fragged off," he muttered, not at all keen to go back to that place. "Ratchet said it. Nothing but time'll fix my reactions to touch."

"Did you think it would be a complete fix?" Prowl asked.

"A mech can hope, ya know?" Jazz sighed, dropping his helm to Prowl's chest once more. "Wasn't really that though. Never wanted to hurt you. I can't do my _job_. I can't socialize worth squat. I can't stand to be touched. I can barely listen to music. And this is going to last a _Cybertronian_ century? Everything I'm good at. Everything I enjoy. Everything I'm _needed_ for ... I can't do."

Prowl hummed in _understanding-sympathy_ his fingers rubbing soothing circles on Jazz's plating. "You will come through, though. You have faced down far worse challenges."

"It's not feeling like it," Jazz grumbled, even as his field smoothed out a bit.

"They never do," Prowl agreed, resting his helm against Jazz's.

Abruptly Jazz groaned and nearly jerked himself upright and off the berth with a shaky smile that was half apology, half frustration. "Breem of peace is up," he said by way of explanation.

Prowl nodded in acceptance, sitting up as well as he pieced together what Jazz had done to keep the interfacing protocols from booting up sooner. "Your schedule for the day?"

"Patrol with Ironhide, then _try_ and do office work," he sighed. "Mirage probably has plans for me in there somewhere. I'll come by for my breaks," he added with a small but honest smile before turning to leave. "If I shower here, neither of us will make it to shift."

"I will see you then," Prowl acknowledged, watching the other leave.

* * *

Jazz cast a withering glare at Tracks from half way across the rec room over a comment about what Jazz saw in Prowl, especially right now. Damnit, why couldn't they leave the protocol-psychotic Ops agent alone? Didn't they have _any_ clue just how volatile he was right now?

"Not really, because you worked very hard to ensure they never thought of you as Ops, or TIC for that matter," Mirage's disembodied voice murmured next to him.

Yet instead of making him jump, the presence of one of the few mecha he trusted to be able to handle him made him relax. "I did, didn't I?"

An understanding brush of Mirage's field extending past his cloak was all the response Jazz received as he collected two cubes of energon and made his way to Prowl's office.

Prowl was in there, working as normal. His helm lifted briefly when the door opened, but then he was back to reading the report in his hand. "Hello, Jazz."

"Hay ya," Jazz grinned, a look that was far less forced when directed at Prowl than at anyone else right now. "Anything interesting?" He asked as he flopped down in the comfortable guest chair and brought out two cubes.

One was slid across to Prowl, who waited until Jazz's hand retreated before reaching for it.

"There have been suspicious losses of power in the eastern part of the continent. We will need to send someone to check it out," Prowl replied, setting the report aside to drink the energon.

"Tracks?" Jazz suggested with a not-so-nice grin.

Prowl raised an optic ridge at him. "Have you had issues with him today?"

"Just talk," Jazz's growl did little to hide how angry it had made him. "About you, mostly."

Prowl's wings twitched in a shrug. Troops had gossiped about him for a long time. He was beyond the pain of it now.

"It really doesn't bother you?" Jazz asked quietly before sipping on his energon. Was he reacting so much more strongly before it was partly directed at him, because Prowl was more than a friend ... _was_ he more than a friend? ... or because he was even more unstable than he thought?

"It used to," Prowl admitted. "However, I have since stopped assigning value to it. So long as it does not affect their professional behavior, it does not matter what they think of me."

Jazz hummed, but it soon turned to a growl. "You deserve better."

Prowl caught his gaze and held it, privately warmed that his lover would want to defend him even as it worried his battle computer about Jazz's instability causing damage due to it. "Those whose opinions matter to me do not share that opinion."

A small smile crossed Jazz's face. "I would hope not."

Prowl gave him a small smile in turn, before his face settled back in its customary neutral position. "Other than that, how has your morning been?"

"Never thought I'd be so grateful for Ironhide's company," Jazz chuckled a bit. "Mech knows how to control his own systems well enough that I don't react to him like a crazy mech."

"I'm sure he's had plenty of experience," Prowl replied, amused. "Is there anyone else that is... easier to be around?"

"My agents," he settled in the chair a bit more. "They either don't have active protocols or they aren't attached to them. Ratchet. Oddly enough, Prime's one of the most difficult."

Prowl hummed, wings twitching. "Or not so oddly. He is the Prime, and the Matrix does want following him to be something we _want_ to do."

Jazz shuddered. "I guess. It's still _seriously_ creepy to have my processor stuck on repeat anytime he's around."

"That will pass in time, as well," Prowl shrugged again.

An uncomfortable silence descended. Jazz focused on trying to control himself and not fixate on his misery. He really wasn't sure how he'd survive a vorn like this, much less a century.

"Is there anything new from your agents?" Prowl asked after a time. Even with what was going on with Jazz, the saboteur's presence was causing his frame to relax, and with that his field began to slowly expand.

"Mirage is really the one to ask," Jazz murmured miserably. "I do what I can, but the reality is that I'm in no condition to manage myself, much less anything else."

Prowl nodded, understanding. "I will have to arrange regular meetings with him, then." His field brushed Jazz's, calm and laced with content that was derived from other black and white being with him.

The answering surge was a mixture of gratefulness, jealousy and the now painfully familiar distress of Jazz being caught off guard by his own systems.

A small, low whine escaped Jazz's vocalizer as he struggled to contain himself, cursing his systems in every language he knew and debating whether to give in or bolt for his quarters and hide until his systems settled again.

"Jazz?" Prowl asked. He was familiar with this struggle by now, but that did not quell the instinctive desire to confirm and want to help.

Another inarticulate sound came from Jazz as he focused on Prowl, the desire to interface overcoming his desire to remain in charge of himself. "Sorry," he murmured as he found his pedes. He only just maintained enough self-control to avoid going over the desk.

"No need," Prowl replied, turning his chair to accept Jazz close as the mech came around the desk to drop on his lap. Jazz's knees tucked in near Prowl's hips as he leaned forward for a kiss and reached out to stroke those lovely doorwings.

Prowl moaned into the kiss, his lips parting for Jazz. His hands rested on the other mech's waist, holding him close as his doorwings pressed into his hands. He had nearly forgotten how _good_ it felt to be touched by a lover who cared for him and he cared for in turn before Jazz had come to him.

Surrendering fully to his needs Jazz's valve cover slid open, allowing the plentiful lubricant to begin oozing out to drip down Prowl's spike cover.

Prowl groaned, his hands moving up to Jazz's back as his spike cover opened, the tip of his spike poking out. Each drip of lubricant that landed on it sent an intense charge of arousal into Prowl, the natural response to a lover who was so turned on.

"Want you," Jazz moaned between heated kisses, knowing exactly what Prowl wanted to hear. "Deep, hard, fast."

Prowl's arousal roared at that, his spike quickly pressurizing between them. "Take me, then," Prowl growled into his mouth, his hands urging Jazz's hips down.

With a full-frame shudder of desire Jazz shifted, lifting up and sliding down to sheath Prowl's spike fully inside himself. A low, wanton moan escaped him at the surge of pleasure that took over from protocols demanding he interface. He buried his face against Prowl's neck and rolled his hips before lifting up, relishing every tingle that the motion and pressure created in him.

Prowl used Jazz's movement to nuzzle a horn on his helm, his body working with Jazz's to make the movements easier. Both their ventilations came faster as the pleasure rapidly built, driven by Jazz's protocols and Prowl's response to the field so tightly meshed with his own.

Prowl's hands and wings twitched with every movement of their hips, and it wasn't long before he was right on the edge. Jazz pressed his face hard against Prowl's neck, his denta bared as the charged rippled through him. His valve clenched tightly, then fluttered only to tighten again as Jazz groaned in a pleasurable peak he still wasn't fond of, but was low enough not to cause panic. Prowl matched his groan as he overloaded, hot fluid rushing from the tip of his spike into Jazz's valve. The charge it carried pushed both their pleasure higher, synching systems for a moment in near-unbearable bliss. Prowl slumped in his chair as the tension of overload fled, leaving him sated and not entirely aware of his surroundings, only of the relaxed lump of lover in his lap.

His arms remained around Jazz, basking in their mingled fields and the shared warmth of their bodies. It felt so good to have a lover again, even more so that it was a lover he could calculate a high percentage chance of success in maintaining a stable, long-term relationship with. Yes, Jazz could lose all interest in interfacing the next time he edited his protocols, likely would do so intentionally if he ever worked out how, but there was far more between friends and mates than interfacing. They had a solid friendship to build on. As long as Jazz was willing, it could work out.

"It really doesn't bother you?" Jazz murmured quietly, his face still against Prowl's neck and his frame lax. "That I keep disrupting your work with my needs."

"Not at all," Prowl replied softly, leaning his helm against Jazz's. "You are important to me as well."

A soft sound escaped Jazz as he relaxed a bit more. "You're a good friend. The best."

"It is only fair, since you are such a good friend to me," Prowl said, a smile in his voice. It felt good too, not just the physical pleasure, but to bring his friend, his lover, some measure of peace from the torment he knew this experience was for Jazz.

Jazz hummed, content to relax in Prowl's arms for a few more moments. It was only when the transfluid began to cool inside him that he began squirm uncomfortably around Prowl's spike. Prowl took that as his cue and retracted his spike, causing another rush of fluid to spill from Jazz. He tenderly kissed Jazz's helm, content to remain where he was until his lover wished to move.

The utter novelty of Prowl more focused on him than work while in his office and on duty kept Jazz there longer than he'd normally snuggle. Still, his well-trained inclination not to remain in such a vulnerable position, and the growing coolness of their fluids, got him to move far sooner than Prowl would have liked.

"We do make a mess," Jazz murmured, trying to get his processors off the idea of another round as he fished around his subspace for a cloth to clean up with.

Prowl hummed in agreement, pulling out his own cloth to help clean up. "That is rather typical," he replied, reaching out to run the cloth up the inside of one leg. He recognized his mistake with the first gasp, but somehow Jazz managed to hold himself together.

"Do you wish me to continue?" he asked softly, pulling his hand back slightly.

"I ... thanks, but I'll clean myself," Jazz murmured, embarrassed by his lack of self-control and for rejecting his friend's help.

Prowl nodded, accepting as always, and stood to clean himself up. It didn't take long to remove the evidence from his groin and thighs, and he turned and bent over to start removing the spilled fluid from his chair.

The rev of Jazz's engine gave him just enough warning that the hands were coming. When they did, Jazz's palms slid over black metal, the fingers sliding into seams until one slid between Prowl's legs to stroke his valve cover.

Prowl groaned, the cover opening reflexively at the touch. A finger dipped in past the rim, then retreated as Jazz tugged Prowl towards the desk and bent him fully over it before pressing against him, molding to his back as much as he could. The tip of his spike rubbed against Prowl's valve entrance as Jazz kissed along his back. Prowl rocked his hips back into Jazz's with a moan, his valve slick against his lover's spike.

"Gotta say, ya look ... _interesting_ like this," Jazz purred, one hand sliding between them to guide his spike to press smoothly into Prowl's valve, the other reaching up to slide knowing fingers into a wing joint.

"In a good or bad way?" Prowl managed to gasp out, his valve spasming in welcome around the spike and arching into the touch.

"Very good way," Jazz moaned, shuddering against Prowl's back as his field meshed tightly with Prowl's, sharing the pleasure of the physical connection. Prowl's field returned the pleasure from his side, allowing it to deepen beyond physical alone.

Jazz reacted with a moan, shuddering as he began to thrust. It felt good, the physical, but what Prowl was offering, that beyond the physical, that was both terrifying and enticing. Could ... could he really have that? Could he trust it, let it in and still ... still be _Jazz_?

With a low, trembling moan Jazz pushed the thoughts aside and focused on the physical pleasure. He wasn't anywhere near rejection, but he wasn't prepared to make that commitment yet either. He _had_ to give it time with a clear processor. There was just too much at stake.

And that was accepted as well.

Prowl groaned underneath him, pleasure spiraling higher quickly. There was something about having a lover who revved up as quickly as Jazz did to spike his own desires and how easy the pleasure came.

Soon Jazz was panting, pressed against his back with both hands deep in doorwing joints and the clang of passionate interfacing ringing through the soundproofed office. With a keening growl and several sharp, hard thrusts, Jazz felt his pleasure crest against as transfluid was pumped from his spike.

The rush of fluid in his valve triggered Prowl's own overload, and he cried out as electricity snapped through his field. He clamped down on the spike inside him, milking it for all it was worth. Above him Jazz thrust a few more times before sinking down against Prowl's back, between quivering doorwings, and tried to draw in enough air to cool his systems.

Prowl went strutless beneath him as he came down from the pleasurable high, his systems purring with contentment, a physical sentiment that was agreed to by the frame pressed against his, lax and content. It was only a brief moment, sooner than Prowl was used to, before Jazz withdrew his spike into the housing, unwilling to move just yet.

It felt too good to be pressed against Prowl's frame.


	2. After The Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jazz's new frame:  
> [  
> Praxian Jazz by Tench](http://gatekat.deviantart.com/art/Praxian-Jazz-by-Tench-298079608) by [Gatekat](http://gatekat.deviantart.com/) on [DeviantArt](http://www.deviantart.com)

Prowl stepped up behind Jazz, wrapping his arms around his friend/lover, and rested his helm against the other's as they looked out over the Iacon skyline. 

Much had changed in the past two metacycles. Soundwave had fallen in battle; Elita One and her femmes had taken out Shockwave; Megatron, given over to mindless rage by the loss of his two most loyal lieutenants, was permanently deactivated by Optimus. Starscream had tried to take over the Decepticon army, but was himself taken out by an usurper. With all of their key leaders gone, the rest of the army dissolved into bickering units that were as much at war with themselves as the Autobots. 

In the confusion, the Autobots had managed to retake Cybertron. Now, with most of their enemy captured, underground, or scattered amongst the stars, the war was effectively over. The sudden transition back to a relatively peaceful existence was difficult for everyone, but some were taking to it worse than others.

Jazz was one of those who was literally loosing what grip on sanity he had, spiraling into a deep, dangerous depression laced with moments of lashing out in a blind rage or intense arousal. It was a painful reminder for those who cared about him just how loose a grip he'd had on stability even before the events of two vorns before when his interface protocols kicked in.

For Prowl, it was intensely painful to watch his dear friend, a mech who he would gladly call his mate, look out over a skyline that held no joy for him. No promise of a bright future. No concept of what he might be. No memories of what had been that were worth striving for.

All Jazz had ever known was war, whether it was the war of survival on the streets or the war that had dominated his adult functioning.

Prowl did his best to anchor his friend, to provide some stability against the chaos in Jazz's processor. There was only so much he could do, however. Jazz had to _want_ to change, to adapt to this new reality.

"What are you going to do, in this new Golden Age?" Jazz asked out of nowhere. His field was pulled in so tightly he was impossible to read, but Prowl could still feel the tension in the frame against his.

"There will always be a need for someone capable of efficiently organizing groups of mecha, large or small," Prowl replied softly.

"So you're staying, with Prime, with the government?" Jazz refused to look at him, instead staring unseeing out to the city.

"That is the likely course for the near-future. Why do you wish to know?" Prowl asked softly.

A small shrug moved under Prowl's chin. "Not sure, just wondering ... what you had planned. Cause, ya know, you always have ah plan."

"What are you thinking?" Prowl asked, his arms tightening slightly around Jazz.

"I ... I don't have any plans," Jazz mumbled. "I don't have any business in this world."

"That is _not_ true," Prowl growled in response to the latter statement, his field spiking with determination and protectiveness. "We merely need to discover what you would be satisfied doing."

Jazz leaned into the touch and field, drinking in the hope and care it represented. Emotions he still felt weird about, though it was coming easier now that he had at least some ability to be touched and not immediately need to pin Prowl down and get off.

"Ops is all I've ever been," he murmured, even as he knew it wasn't exactly true. He'd been many things as part of his missions. Sometimes for a very long time and at a level where he had to know the function as well as one sparked for it. But had he ever been satisfied?

When _hadn't_ he been satisfied?

Jazz really wasn't sure. He was satisfied in Ops because he'd been programmed to be. He knew that much. He'd done it to many mecha as he rose in the ranks and became a command officer in Ops, so he knew in an abstract way it had been done to him.

"We can start with what you like doing, and work from there. See what needs to be done that coincides with that. Or perhaps have your official job be something that you perhaps don't love, but are content doing, and then a hobby that you love." Prowl held him closer. "It is a matter of making a place for yourself, and I will help you if you allow me to."

"It's hard to remember, to _think_ ," Jazz muttered with an unhappy sound. "I know I used to be happy. I can probably be content with almost anything."

"What about singing and performing on stage?" Prowl suggested softly. He felt Jazz tense, the resistance reflexive. It would take time for him to processes the idea. A relatively long time, as he still had difficulty focusing on anything for more than a couple breems at a time and multitasking, once one of Jazz's greatest talents, was out of the question.

It was enough to drive any mecha insane.

A low, soft sound of distress escaped Jazz, warning them both that his interfacing protocols were done with being ignored. It was a warning that Prowl was intimately familiar with, and his own interface systems begin to prime in response. A second sound and Jazz surrendered to the inevitable, turning to kiss Prowl and wrap his arms around his lover's shoulders.

Despite the warnings and suggestions from Mirage early on, Prowl had learned that giving Jazz control made his friend even more miserable. The trick was to give Jazz enough control to avoid triggering self-defense protocols, while giving him enough of a perception that he wasn't in control that he could convince himself that the interface was done to him, rather than something he was fully part of.

It broke Prowl's spark to see his friend, his lover, have such an adversarial relationship with what should be pleasure, but he understood it fully. His own intense drive to control himself and what was around him had caused a similar response in him at first. Yet he had learned to embrace the pleasure for all it could be thanks to a good friend, and he was willing to put in the effort to help Jazz.

Especially now that Jazz did not _have_ to remain an Autobot or in Special Ops. He could be anything.

Prowl knew himself and his lover well, and it did not take long for both to reach their climaxes as Prowl thrust into Jazz against the wall. It was a temporary reprieve, but anything was better than trying to suppress the need.

Slowly, with a sigh of relief, Jazz relaxed between Prowl and the wall. He was beginning to wonder if he'd last a century of this without simply being worn down until he accepted it.

He nuzzled Prowl in thanks, not just for the pleasure that would give him a few breams of clear thought, but for remaining close and tolerant of the insanity that Jazz functioned under now. Prowl nuzzled him back, still convinced helping Jazz was worth all of the sparkache.

The older mech depressurized his spike, but still held his friend and lover close, allowing their fields to remain meshed. This part felt the best to them both, the coming down and the way Jazz settled once his systems stabilized.

"I wish Whiplash had survived," Jazz murmured. "He knew what was done to me ... how much of my memories were planted and what really happened."

Prowl made a noise of agreement, leaning his helm against Jazz's.

There was a quiet moment before uncertainty flickered up from Jazz. "Do you know what leaving Ops means?"

"...Rumors and personal speculation," Prowl replied softly.

"A lot of wiped memories, skills, protocols," Jazz summarized it quietly. "Basically removing everything that could compromise agents or missions."

"And for you, that would be a lot," Prowl replied, his hold on Jazz tightening slightly.

"Yeah. I'd remember a lot of our evenings, but basically nothing of how we met or why we became friends," Jazz admitted. "I'd know most of my friends ... well, the ones that aren't Ops. I might remember them, but with false stories. I wouldn't know they were Ops."

"Is that something you would want?" Prowl asked, acceptance running through his field.

"It...." he rested his helm against Prowl's. "Not if I lose you."

Prowl shifted so that his forehead was pressed against Jazz's, staring in the other's visor. "Either way, you will not lose me," he promised.

Jazz sighed and pressed close, his Ops protocols quieter than in a very, very long time with the war over. Yet they still tormented him, suppressing his desire to exist and the few strands of happiness he had managed to hold onto up to this point. They whispered to him to lie down and shut down with no command to power up again. Whispered that he was a liability.

Yet as torturous as those whispers were, as tempting as it was to give in to them, every time Prowl held him like this he no longer wanted to. It felt _good_ like little in his fragged up existence could compare to. To be cared about, no matter what.

A low, soft keen escaped Jazz as he struggled with the options and the sheer enormity of the choice before him.

Prowl continued to hold him, his field surrounding Jazz, full of care and support and acceptance that was absorbed with the ravenous need of a mech who'd know very little of that kind of attention in a very long time.

* * *

"Believe me, I would prefer not to bring him in," Keepsafe shook his helm, her slender psudo-wing panels flicking in distress. "The reality is that he is the only one still functioning that has any potential to do it and not kill him."

"That is even remotely acceptable at least," Mirage grumbled only just loud enough for her to hear, his EM shield active and covering them both as they slipped into the medbay and then into Ratchet's office.

Ratchet glanced up and scowled when he didn't immediately see who was in his office. "Why are you here, Mirage?"

The EM field fell away in a glowing grid, revealing both mecha within it.

"To ask your assistance in keeping Jazz's spark in his frame and his processors stable," Mirage spoke evenly.

Ratchet's frown deepened. "What kind of code warping did you Ops mechs do this time?"

"He has asked to be decommissioned from Ops," Keepsafe vented sharply. "Normally this would be handled in house, but the bottom line is that no one with the skills to do it safely has survived."

"Jazz does," Mirage added. "However, that would be more dangerous than having Keepsafe and myself perform the work."

"And just what work would need to be done?" Ratchet asked.

Mirage inclined his helm to the SpecOps CMO, a mecha who was barely more than a full medic and had learned most of her craft in the interrogation chamber.

"All the Ops protocols need to be removed, many standard ones replaced, and all memories that could compromise our agents, surviving and otherwise, must be edited out," she explained. "Normally we would simply wipe him clean to just before he joined us. That isn't an option here, for all it's the _safe_ one."

Ratchet vented heavily, staring at her as fury bubbled through his field. "Do you realize what that would _do_ to him?"

"Yes, as does he," she grumbled, equally unhappy. "Jazz _asked_ me to do this. I'm asking for help."

The CMO sighed, though still clearly not happy with the whole situation. "What information can you give me on what needs to be removed?"

She offered him a datachip. "This is as much as I have on him and his protocols. I believe you are aware of how much self-editing he does."

Ratchet accepted it. "Which will make any revisions that much harder."

"I know," she admitted. "I've included my notes. Mirage contributed a great deal to the suggestions as well. The bulk came from Jazz during the joors he could focus."

* * *

Awareness came in that hazy way of a slow boot, something that instantly set him on edge, fighting with everything he was worth to speed the processes. Anything could happen if he couldn't react. Someone desperate enough for energon to take it from his lines, mecha animals hungry enough to eat him while he was still warm, a thug just out for the fun of a helpless kill.

Suddenly he could feel another field against his, one familiar, calm, and reassuring.

Prowl.

If Prowl was calm, they were safe. That much he was sure of. He'd known and trusted Prowl a very long time. Trusted him with everything.

Bit by bit, it came back. The war, being an Autobot, going SpecOps, becoming Jazz. _Retiring_.

First things first ... was he still going to go by Jazz?

A nudge from the back of his processors suggested that no, it wasn't a bright idea. Jazz was a major target, always would be. And Ratchet was enough of a professional that whatever he looked like now, it was quite different from the black and white Protihexian frame he had worn for most of his existence.

"Like the new look?" he mumbled, still rather groggy.

"Very much," came the rumbled reply.

"Good," he smiled and booted his visor ... yes, he still had a visor, though it likely wasn't the same color or design. "I'll need a new designation too," he added as he began exploring his physical systems.

Prowl hummed in agreement from where he stood next to Jazz.

"How are you feeling?" Ratchet asked from Jazz's other side.

"Weird, calmer ... I have doorwings?" Jazz wiggled the new appendages in surprise.

"A Praxian frame," Prowl supplied, causing Jazz to laugh in good humor at his lover's choice.

"Weird how?" Ratchet moved in, running standard tests on his systems.

"I _do_ remember having a different frame most of my existence," Jazz chuckled and sat up, careful of how much lighter his frame was now. "But mostly just a weird sense of missing so much history and protocols I know I used to have."

"That's normal, then, since you are missing a lot of protocols and memory files," Ratchet replied, finishing his tests. "Alright, looks like everything checks out. Take it easy for the rest of the orn, but you're free to go."

Jazz nodded and slid off the berth. Though the movements were careful, both mechs watching could see the grace that Jazz had always been known for. With a grin when he was sure he was steady on his pedes, Jazz latched onto Prowl's arm and snuggled close, his field giving no doubt as to what was on his processors.

Prowl chuckled and held him close, giving him a kiss on top of his helm, careful of the brilliant red chevron that now adored it. "Let's make it to our quarters, at least."

"Right, right," Jazz smirked even as he turned his face up for a quick kiss. "Try thinking of a designation you'd like. I can't go by Jazz any more."

Prowl nuzzled his cheek before giving him that quick kiss. "I will."

"Get out, and take it _easy_ ," Ratchet waved a wrench at them. "Jazz's systems aren't up for an all-nighter."

"Yes, Ratchet," Prowl intoned before leading his lover safely away. He guided them down the quickest route back, knowing Jazz had little patience left. The utter _lack_ of distress in Jazz's field made Prowl eager as well. That was what this time in a mecha's functioning was supposed to feel like. Eager, excited and not the least bit afraid.

He offered no resistance to the tug towards their berth the moment the door closed behind them. Prowl stopped right next to the berth and captured Jazz's lips in a deep kiss, his arms wrapped around the smaller mech's waist.

Slender but still strong medium blue hands slid up Prowl's back as Jazz happily indulged in the kiss, rubbing their entire chassis together. His field gave no doubt that he wouldn't accept the distraction for long and was in no more mood for lingering foreplay than he'd been before. It was just his attitude towards interfacing that seemed to have taken a dramatic turn.

Prowl lifted him and settled Jazz back on the berth, quickly climbing above him. The black and white mech kissed him briefly before trailing kisses down Jazz's new body, heading determinedly towards his lover's interface array. He heard it slide open, both panels, and the spike pressurizing between them as Jazz moaned and pressed into the contact.

Their fields reached out for each other, as familiar as Jazz's new frame was different.

Prowl groaned at the sight and licked his way up Jazz's spike, one hand reaching between them to stroke the platelets surrounding Jazz's valve. Raw pleasure filled Jazz's field, pushing into Prowl's, as the new Praxian frame spread his legs and rolled his hips into the contact. Strong, slender blue fingers caressed Prowl's helm, especially his chevron, encouraging him.

Prowl moved, slowly taking the spike into his mouth, lavishing it with his glossa. He purred at the feeling of Jazz's pleasure, allowing the vibrations dance along into the spike. His fingers were starting to dip into the valve, stroking the sensor nodes closest to the entrance.

A sharp, needy keen escaped Jazz as he jerked his hips up, seeking _more_. Prowl's fingers sunk into the slick, quivering channel into Jazz's frame, already crackling lightly with a charge.

" _Prowl!_ " the single word was demand, entreaty and breathy thanks all in one.

The other mech heeded it, sliding down to where his lips brushed the plating surrounding the spike. He swallowed, letting his intake constrict around the head of the spike. His fingers slid further in, stroking and scissoring. Jazz's valve squeezed and rippled, trying to draw the intrusion deeper inside as lubricant dripped onto the berth.

Jazz's keen was an attempt at words, but the intent was clear in his field: _take me_.

Prowl growled, his mouth moving off of the spike and he lunged up to cover Jazz's body with his own, his spike automatically pressurizing and sinking into the eager valve. He began a fast, hard rhythm, pounding into his lover. Despite how similar this was to all the times before, it was the background of Jazz's field that nearly knocked Prowl for a loop when the dark blue stiffened under him and Jazz keened.

Even with the overload at full strength washing through Jazz, there was nothing of the old _fear-pain-distress_ that Prowl had gotten so accustomed to. The feeling of it sent Prowl over the edge, crying out as he buried his spurting spike in his lover's valve, earning another rush of pleasure from the mech under him.

Slowly they both regained their senses, lax and nearly strutless. Prowl's spike was still in Jazz's valve, Jazz's legs wrapped around his, their arms around each other.

Gradually Jazz nuzzled his lover. "Could get _really_ used to that."

"So could I," Prowl replied, returning the affectionate nuzzle.

Slowly Jazz brought a hand forward to caress Prowl's cheek, then drew him in for a tender, chaste kiss. "Thank you. For caring enough to risk this with me."

Prowl pressed his cheek into the touch. "You are welcome. I could not have chosen anything other than to be at your side."

A soft sense of _wonder-amazement-gratitude_ floated up from Jazz's field as he smiled playfully. "I hope you still feel that way when I grow up again."

Prowl chuckled, rubbing the tip of his nose against the tip of Jazz's. "I'm sure I will, even on the orns that you drive me crazier than the twins are capable of doing."


	3. Celebrating Life

Sunstreaker glanced around the room. It was good to see everyone again after vorns of peace. The time had been good to him, his brother, and their lover. He had started creating art again, with his brother acting as his agent. Sideswipe had also built his business back to its pre-war levels. Bluestreak had set aside his sniper rifle to work at bringing back Praxus' famed crystal gardens. The peace had created the biggest change in the Praxian, allowing his work with a therapist to actually sink in and take hold. His nightmares were drastically reduced, and his chatter was now genuinely cheerful, rather than a cover for his fears. He was doing so well that the three of them had decided to try for their first sparkling.

That's what this party was for. The newspark Bluestreak was carrying was healthy and was passed the most dangerous stage of carrying.

Everyone cheered and clapped as the Praxian singer finished performing and stepped off the stage to be swept up in a kiss from Prowl. Even though they were hiding it to the rest of the world, it was obvious to everyone in this room that Sirenis had been Jazz. A radically changed Jazz, but definitely Jazz. Despite the new frame, new paint, new function and new backstory, for everyone that had been close to one or both of the lovers during the war there was no way Prowl would have moved on so quickly, and never become so serious with a mecha not even a quarter of the way through their first interface century.

It brought a small smile to the former frontliner's perfect features. As often as he'd thought about interfacing with one or both of them over the long time he'd known them, it was good to see them happy and he couldn't mind that he never had. He had Bluestreak and existence was _good_.

"They're so sweet, aren't they?" Bluestreak chattered happily from his side, the young Praxian's field full of _pleasure-joy-contentment_. "And Sirenis is a good looking Praxian too. They'll have such good looking sparklings."

"Ours will be better," Sunstreaker purred, leaning in to steal a kiss from his lover.

"It's _ours_ ," Bluestreak grinned, purring and kissing back.

"They're so obvious," Sideswipe chuckled from Bluestreak's other side. "It's a good thing we don't have teeth like humans, otherwise they'd all rot out from those two."

"They are good for each other," the deep, rich voice of Optimus Prime rolled over them. "Though we are here to celebrate your love, and the most joyous of events you have created. The first sparkling kindled since the war."

"Thank you, Optimus," Sideswipe replied, grinning.

"Yes, thank you, Prime," Bluestreak's grinned bright enough to light up all of Iacon. "I never thought about carrying before, but it feels so good," he rubbed the spot over his chest armor. "I don't have any of the issues we were warned about carriers sometimes having. I need more energon, but that's about it. Even the supplements Ratchet gave me to take don't taste that bad. I think it's because my systems need it, you know? It makes what I need taste good."

"That is an excellent sign," Prime smiled warmly before looking up to greet his Minister of Planetary Affairs and the bubbly Praxian singer currently making a splash on the entertainment scene.

"Greetings, Prime," Prowl said as he approached the group. "Bluestreak, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe," he gave each a smile and nod in turn. "I believe everyone knows Sirenis."

"Of course," Bluestreak all but launched at the singer to pull him into a hug.

After a startled moment to drag his interfacing protocols back in line Sirenis hugged his old friend back. "Carrying seems to agree with ya Blue," the deep blue and red Praxian purred.

"It agrees with him very well," Sideswipe said, leering at his lover.

"It is good to see you doing so well," Prowl said as he claimed his own hug from the carrying Praxian. It wasn't missed by either when Sirenis draped himself across Sunstreaker's shoulders and purred.

Sunstreaker looked down at the singer in surprise, but quickly composed himself. "You sang very well up there."

"Thank you," Sirenis smiled, but let his field do the talking for him as it reached out to caress Sunstreaker's, rich with desire.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe automatically looked at Blue when they felt what was in the singer's field, checking how the former sniper felt about Sirenis' advances. Across the bond they shared they felt the mixed _displeasure-acceptance_ , but also a thread of tension as Bluestreak's optics locked onto Prowl, granting the senior mecha the first and likely final call.

Prowl sighed in resignation. He had seen Sirenis in these moods before. As much as he instinctively disliked his lover's optics wandering, he knew it was natural for a mech in his lifestage and that Sirenis would return to him soon enough. He knew that, just like Jazz, Sirenis had no desire to _remain_ with another. It was simply protocols associated with this century driving him to explore with as many mecha as he could. As much as he disliked it, he understood the logic of it, and agreed with that logic.

~Go ahead,~ Bluestreak released his mates. ~'Face him. He probably won't even stay the night. It's just his stage.~

~Thank you, love,~ Sideswipe replied as their engines rumbled and Sunstreaker placed a hand on Sirenis' back, below the doorwing mounts.

That was all Sirenis needed to let his hands wonder over red, gold and black plating. As much as he didn't like hurting Prowl, Prowl had also driven it into him that ignoring the protocols was not healthy and not to be accepted. That included indulging with whatever mecha caught his attention that orn as long as they agreed. He never wasted any time in returning to his lover though, and welcomed the intensely systematic way that Prowl reclaimed him.

Here, with two mechs he knew he could trust, he was actually looking forward to the exploration a bit more than usual. Besides, how often would the opportunity to be with twins actually come up?

::Thank you, Blue,:: Sirenis commed him, the gratitude honest in his voice even as he turned his helm to try and catch Sideswipe in a kiss.

"Energon?" Bluestreak focused on Prowl. He wanted away from the scene, and he was sure Prowl did as well.

"Yes, I am sure you could use some more," Prowl replied with a smile, taking Bluestreak's arm to guide him away. "Why don't you tell Prime and myself about your plans for the sparkling."

"What's it like, having him ... this way?" Bluestreak asked as he took a sip of energon, glad that his mates and Sirenis had left for a more private location.

Prowl vented softly. "I have had to re-learn almost everything. Preferences, where and how to touch... And how to let go. In some ways, it is like being with a new lover. His protocols offer plenty of time for learning anew. It will be a relief when they run their course, however. We do not spend nearly as much time simply talking anymore, and it is difficult for him to contain himself for long enough to play a game."

Bluestreak hummed, thoughtful. "A century doesn't seem like that long, but it's probably looking like forever for both of you. I can't imagine he's happy being that controlled by his protocols."

Prowl made a noise of agreement, for both statements. "At least he isn't dealing with conflicting protocols anymore. That much is a relief." Prowl stared into his drink a moment before sipping it.

"I bet," Bluestreak gave a small, dreamy smile. "It's been wonderful with the twins to have the bulk of their frontliner protocols gone. Especially Sunstreaker really hated them." He gave a tiny shudder. "When we bonded ... when he let me see ... Primus, Prowl, what they did to him should have been a criminal offence. It'd be as bad as stripping your tactical computer. When they 'upgraded' him to be a warrior they stole his ability to create. He just couldn't anymore. But he remembered what it was like, what he knew how to do, what he had been able to do, and couldn't any more. It was horrible."

Prowl reached over and squeezed the younger Praxian's hand. "He is obviously much happier now. His artwork is spectacular. Will he be designing the protoform for the sparkling?"

"The details and coloring," Bluestreak smiled brightly. "All the aesthetic stuff. We've decided that it'll be a Praxian frame, but I don't think it'll look like us. Sunny's got a _look_ to him when he talks about the design. It's going to be something amazing."

"It will be exciting to see what he has in mind then, beyond the normal," Prowl replied with a smile. "What plans do you have for the sparkling?"

"I want as little influential programming as possible," the younger Praxian said firmly. "It will be what it's talents and interests lead to. I'm planning to include as much Praxian history and tradition as I can, given my mates aren't."

Prowl's doorwings fluttered in pleasure at his choices. "Have they agreed to a designation-giving ceremony?"

Bluestreak's smile bloomed even more. "Yes, as long as I don't object to whatever nic they give it in the meantime. They can't wrap their processors around it not having a designation to use."

"I am sure whatever they use will embarrass the sparkling once he is fully upgraded," Prowl replied, amused. "Have you started planning out how you are going to split watching over the sparkling?"

"Some. I've doing most of the shifts, just because I can work any joors and _I_ can work without losing track of it," he snickered. "Besides, I'm not keen on the idea of Sideswipe taking it to work with _him_."

"Yes, that would be inviting trouble," Prowl agreed.

"He'll have more than enough opportunities to corrupt it," Bluestreak giggled, then turned serious. "Would you stand with me, as my mentor, when it's presented?"

Prowl was equally serious at the question, reaching out to touch Bluestreak's hand. "I would be honored to."

With a brilliant smile Bluestreak turned his hand over and squeezed Prowl's hand in thanks. "How are things going with Jazz? You two seem happy."

"Overall, it is good. He is much happier with life now in general, and that spills over into everything else," Prowl replied with a smile. "My job is also less stressful, which also relieves tension."

"Good," Bluestreak purred, genuinely delighted. "He's enjoying his career?"

"Very much so," Prowl smiled, his doorwings fluttering at what he had felt through his lover's field. "It even distracts him from the ever-present arousal."

"Oh, I bet that does make him happy," Bluestreak grinned, then perked up. "They're clean and heading back ... well, Sides and Sirenis are. Sunny needs more time to polish," he giggled. "That much hasn't changed."

Prowl chuckled at that. "I'm sure he'll do a bit of a quicker job, if he wants to continue to be part of the focal of the celebration."

"You're talking about a mech that can spend over a full orn, recharge cycle and all, fussing over his appearance," Bluestreak snickered. "He'll be back in a couple breems. That's fast, for him."

"It is a good thing he doesn't ask you to spend just as long on your finish," Prowl said, humor in his voice.

They both look towards the door as their mates returned. While they had been suitably cleaned up, no one was fooled. A few sympathetic glances went the Praxians' way, but most understood.

Sirenis was quick to deposited himself in Prowl's lap and nuzzle him. Prowl kissed him with a low growl, his arms wrapping around his lover's waist in a possessive manner.

"As soon as we can sneak away, I'm all yours," Sirenis purred, the resonant sound and rich affection in his field nothing like what he had offered the twins who had just thoroughly explored his frame.

"I am sure that will not be overly long," Prowl rumbled in reply. His field was filled with the promise of a very thorough reclaiming.

* * *

Prowl pressed Sirenis up against the wall next to the door of their temporary quarters, engine hot and his mouth devouring his lover's. One thigh braced against the wall between Sirenis' two and his engine revved, vibrating their frames. Sirenis moaned into the kiss, shivering and mewing as he rocked his hips, both interface covers open, his spike extended and valve slick enough to smear lubricant along Prowl's thigh as they moved. His field roared with desire that was very specific to Prowl. Others may have his frame, enjoy the pleasure of it and his cries, but only Prowl felt the _affection-want_ directed at him. It was part of why Prowl never objected to Sirenis' wanderings.

His hand moved down, wrapping around the singer's spike, squeezing and stroking it. "Mine," the elder mech growled into their kiss.

"Yours, always," Sirenis cried and arched into the contact, his entire frame quivering with need. "Even when others touch me, I'm _yours_."

"Overload for me," Prowl said in Sirenis' audio, stroking his spike in what he knew from experience brought the lighter mech the most pleasure. 

That was all it took. With a keening scream Sirenis' frame jerked and locked up, only his hips moving as he continued to thrust into his mate's hand. The pleasure of it was intense, but far more so because of who was touching him. His field roared with the pleasure and the desire to please the one mecha who meant everything to him as burst after burst of silvery transfluid arched between them to splash on both their frames.

Prowl's touch eased slightly as his lover came down from his overload, his field rioting with pleasure derived from what he could bring out in Sirenis. His hands shifted to Sirenis' aft, hiking the other mech up to carry over to the berth. He practically collapsed them on the berth, kissing the singer thoroughly. Long, elegant legs wrapped around him as hands sought his doorwing joints.

Sirenis all but melted into the kiss and the comforting pleasure that was Prowl's field.

It felt _so_ good to be in his arms again.

"Mine," Prowl growled again, softer this time, and nipped at Sirenis' lips. His spike pressurized and he rubbed it against the platelets around the singer's valve before he sank it in the welcoming heat with a groan.

His lover's reaction was as intense as it was predictable. Sirenis arched to drive his hips into the thrust. His valve rippled around the invading thickness, drawing out pleasure for both of them.

Prowl savored it for a moment before he began a demanding rhythm, thrusting hard and deep into his lover. Pleasure spiraled quickly higher between them, fields deeply entwined, sharing the physical pleasure and the emotional connection between them.

"Yessss!" Sirenis keened, fully lost in the bliss of the physical attention and the possessive affection in Prowl's field. "Love ya."

"Love you too," Prowl groaned, beyond conscious thought. His chest plates unlocked, even as he continued to drive into his lover. Sirenis responded by reflex, trusting his lover and anything Prowl wanted.

Armor, one still heavy for war, the other light and civilian, parted to expose their spark chambers, the final protection for the sparks that gave life to their frames. Sirenis' rich purple shown off Prowl's white plating, bathing the space between them before mingling with Prowl's pale blue.

Prowl moaned at the feeling of pleasure as their sparks touched, so much more intense than the pleasure rolling off of their physical frames. And then he was aware of his lover inside of him. The native curiosity and quicksilver processors that had always marked Jazz, no matter his form or designation washed over Prowl's awareness, exploring him without fully grasping what it was it was exploring.

In an instant Prowl grasped on a purely instinctive level what had made Jazz so effective as an Op, as a leader, and what made Sirenis so successful as a performer. He couldn't help the feeling of adoration-affection-love welling up inside him, even as he automatically opened up in return. His emotions, his memories, all there for his lover to see.

Without hesitation Sirenis delved into the offering, twining and weaving into the open processors and spark, reveling in the _knowing_. He was a bit more reluctant to offer himself, though not for lack of trust in Prowl. He didn't completely trust himself yet, and he knew he was missing so much of his history, but not what his spark remembered. Not what might come back in this context.

Prowl accepted Jazz-Sirenis' reluctance, understanding it, basking in what of his lover he could access. Their bodies continued to move automatically, but it was a forgotten pleasure. Slowly, cautiously, Jazz-Sirenis offered bits of himself.

Emotions came first. Trust. Affection. Desire. No-longer-lonely. Safety. Each was met and matched, treasured by the mech they were offered to.

It encouraged more, the whisper of a designation that Jazz-Sirenis did not think of as himself, yet it was the one that harkened to his original frame.

Quicksilver.

There was awe at that, as well as a sense of appropriateness of the name as a few hazy, fragmented memories of a sleek youngling of chrome and silver reflected in a building's side slipped through. What really caught Prowl's attention was the lack of visor, and the bright-colored but low-energy dimmed aqua-green optics looking back at the ill-kept frame that could have fit in with Mirage's noble friends if it had been clean and polished.

A surge of surprise-love-wish-you-had-better came from Prowl, as well as a sense of curiosity-dread at where his lover had come from.

A mental shrug can in reply as Jazz-Sirenis relaxed a bit more into the merge, offering his earliest memories. Or at least what he thought were _his_ memories. Flickering here and there was the uncontested knowledge that it was possible all of it was a lie, implanted when he was taken into SpecOps to make him not want to look for his past because there was nothing to look for.

Sparkling-level memories, scattered and with the strange focus that came from the age and unique protocols, provided an image of two femmes. One of soft blue and green, the other silver and black, both of quality construction and well-kept finish. Warm smiles. Warm fields. Being loved. 

Oft-repeated warnings to fear the authorizes, the field-backed lessons that only family could be trusted. Early lessons in stealing. Watching his creators work, none of it legal.

Feeling death through his field when he was only a dozen or two vorns old.

Running. Knowing only that his only family was gone and the authorizes were trying to catch him.

There was a vague sense of recognition from Prowl. The pattern resembled a class of mech he had heard about, but didn't know much of beyond hearsay and rumors. Jazz-Sirenis picked up the thread and actually balked in surprise when he put it together with what he knew from his long existence in the underworld before and during the war.

 _Ambler_.

Large clans of related mecha that specialized in games, cons, theft and all manner of non-violent ways to separate non-amblers from their credits.

~I ... I was ... I had _kin_?~ Jazz-Sirenis stammered, shocked to his very core at the possibility.

~It seems quite likely,~ Prowl replied, love-support washing out to surround his lover.

~I _have_ kin,~ he reiterated, certain that if any group had managed to survived, it would be ambler clans. Awe flooded from Jazz-Sirenis, and a longing he couldn't even begin to put a name on the intensity of.

~We can try searching,~ Prowl offered, and was nearly bowled over by the _excitement-YES-please_ that crashed into him from his lover.

Even more of Jazz-Sirenis opened up, offering Prowl access to the scattered and strange place that was Jazz's memories, from when he was first picked up for Ops to when he decided it was the right choice to leave it. Unlike most, Jazz-Sirenis was allowed to remember as much as possible of his existence that wouldn't compromise the division. Designations, faces, personalities, places ... much of Jazz's off-duty time ... was intact. The fact that he had been the Head of SpecOps and the Autobot TIC were there, but little of what he had done as such or how he gained the rank.

Prowl reveled in what he was shown, honored that his lover would open up to him. Despite the paranoia, sense of separation and that those around him were not quite real that permeated all of Jazz's memories that flowed freely for Prowl's inspection, under it all was a genuinely happy mech that reveled in being social, exploring, learning. Everything that Jazz was known for was real, even though it was also an artifact, a created profile over the paranoia and job that Jazz was always doing.

Soon, far too soon, pleasure spiraled back into their awareness. It would not be denied as it washed over them, starting in their sparks and spreading to the rest of the bodies in an irresistible wave of overload.

Only small flickers of _awe-amazement-YES_ drifted back and fourth, mingled with the pleasure until all thought whited out, then blacked out as they crashed from the intensity of it.


	4. Finally an Adult

Prowl, of course, had taken note of the gradual decrease in Sirenis' inclination to interface with others over the past eight vorns and was eagerly awaiting the moment when his lover said it was finally over for good. It had been half a vorn since he'd strayed, and Prowl had to admit that it felt _good_ to have his lover to himself. It was especially true in moments like this, early in the morning when he had booted up but his lover had not, and would not, for several joors yet.

Sirenis made such a lovely sight in recharge. Relaxed, generally smeared with transfluid, lubricant and Prowl's black and white paint and content to be right where he was.

And Prowl was content to remain there, watching over his lover. Many of those that knew him during the war would not believe such of the workaholic SIC, but moments like these were well worth the stress he had endured during the war.

Prowl nuzzled his lover's helm, watching his recharge-lax face.

The contact was enough to begin to rouse Sirenis, though only slightly. Then he sank back down, giving Prowl that much more hope it was finally over. A decaorn ago he would have roused completely, driven by protocols to indulge in the offered affection.

Prowl smiled at that, wrapping his lover in his contented field and settled in to enjoy a morning of simply laying next to Sirenis. It was more than a full joor later than he felt him begin to rouse more naturally, the slow default boot cycle of a civilian so different than what they had both known nearly their entire existences.

"Good morning," Prowl murmured as Sirenis finished booting.

"Morning lover," Sirenis smiled warmly, turning his helm for a kiss.

"How was your recharge?" Prowl asked, kissing him affectionately.

"Good," he purred into the light kiss, drawing back a bit before leaning into the kiss once more. "I think it might be over."

"That is something to celebrate," Prowl replied, keeping the kisses light and affectionate, an arm pulling the lighter mech closer. Desire flared in Sirenis' field, bright, clean and very directed as he pushed Prowl to his back and rolled on top of him.

"Perhaps with finding out what interfacing is like without those damn protocols running it?" Sirenis crooned, reaching for Prowl's doorwings.

"That sounds like a solid plan," the black and white mech replied with a rumble, his own hands finding his lover's doorwings. They pressed into the touch as Sirenis moaned, but even at this stage they could both feel the difference.

There was pleasure, and intense desire, but after a century at the mercy of protocols demanding that he try new ways to interface, new partners, and do so quickly, that pressure to overload wasn't there. Sirenis was finally free to take some time and savor the experience.

"Mmm, goood," Prowl moaned, slowly working his lover's doorwings.

Sirenis cut any further words off as he found Prowl's mouth with his own and delved his glossa deep. His entire frame undulated above his lover, rubbing and pressing into each contact that sent exquisite jolts of pleasure through his frame.

Prowl kissed him back, glossa stroking the other, savoring the slow pace they hadn't had an opportunity to indulge in before. He could feel that his lover's patience wouldn't last long, but that was from a lack of experience, not unwanted protocols.

With a shuddering moan Sirenis spread his legs, his valve cover sliding open as he rubbed his groin against Prowl's, his hands still on Prowl's doorwings and his mouth occupied with his lover's.

The elder Praxian groaned, but didn't allow his spike to pressurize. Instead his hands left his lover's doorwings to stroke the seams along his sides and around his abdomen. The shivers he felt were well worth it, but even sweeter was the lack of desperation from his lover. Oh, there was no missing what Sirenis _wanted_ , but the desperation that move would have generated only a few orns ago was distinctly missing.

"Relax," Prowl said into his lover's mouth. His hands continued their exploration of the other's frame, wanting to show him how good a slow build-up could be.

A desperate whine escaped Sirenis. He trembled and stroked Prowl's doorwings and tried to comply. Prowl groaned and rolled them over, kissing Sirenis as he pressed the younger mech into the berth and felt him relax. It was submission to Prowl's will, done out of pure trust.

Sirenis still rocked his hips upwards, his spike escaping to pressurize in a silent plea for more contact. In response, Prowl kissed his way down his lover's form, his hands stroking the hip joints.

"Yesss ... Prowler," Sirenis moaned, pressing into the contact. As badly as he wanted more, he _trusted_ this mech to deny him and make it worth it. Almost blindly his hands found Prowl's helm, then chevron to stroke, sharing the affection and desire he had for Prowl alone.

Prowl moaned at the feeling, the emotions rousing him as much as his lover's desire. He nuzzled and stroked each hip before turning his attention to his lover's spike, glossa reaching out to lick around the base.

Sirenis nearly lost himself right then. His voice rose to a sharp keen as his spike twitched and valve contracted, both objecting to the lack of attention despite his best efforts to silence the cries of his frame for _more_.

Prowl paid close attention to his lover's responses, pulling back every time his lover was about to go over the edge, denying him, only to move in to lick and kiss again.

"Prowwwllll!" Sirenis keened, his helm thrashing back and forth as his charge teetered on the edge of pain so good he wanted it to last forever.

The elder mech pushed his lover as far as he dared, then suddenly sank his mouth over the spike, swallowing around the head as transfluid rushed down his intake and Sirenis drove his hips up as his helm fell back with a scream of release. Prowl eagerly accepted his lover's overload, slowing his movements as the energy eased down.

Under him Sirenis panted, gasping for cooling air and some way to stabilize himself as the last of the lose energy careened through his systems. Yet he still rocked his hips, albeit lightly and a bit uncoordinated.

Prowl pulled his mouth off of the spike, moving up to press his frame against his lover's. He nuzzled the blue and red mech into a slow kiss as arms came up to wrap around him, petting his doorwings.

When Sirenis found enough coordination he drew his legs up to wrap around Prowl's, his valve beyond slick and desperate to be filled. Prowl allowed his spike to pressurize, easing it into the eager valve as he deepened the kiss. Calipers rippled along his length, pressing and stroking as sensor nodes lit up for them both and Sirenis moaned in bliss.

The elder mech groaned with him, beginning to leisurely rock his hips, relishing in the sweet, slow build of his lover's second overload.

Talented, knowing fingers worked into Prowl's doorwing joints as their mouths met again. Sirenis' field flared as the pleasure did, along with the distinctive click and sounds of the complex transformation sequence to display his rich purple spark.

Purple leaders stretched out, seeking to connect with the blue spark above it. Tendrils danced along Prowl's armor, internals and spark chamber, drawing a deep groan from him. Prowl's spark chamber opened, blue tendrils reaching out and entwining with his lover's as they both shuddered in pleasure.

With all the impatience of the youth he had never truly been, Sirenis' spark tried to rush the merge, pulling at Prowl's spark as his own rushed upwards.

Prowl held back, forcibly slowed the merge, drawing it out to show his lover what could be. He felt Sirenis respond, try to follow suit, but the best he could do was let go of Prowl's frame and grab onto the berth cover to anchor himself, offering as much control to Prowl as his spark would tolerate.

With a tender kissed Prowl eased their sparks together. Spark-deep awareness of the other came slowly as the pleasure rose in soft waves. A gradual coming together that highlighted how well they _fit_ in a way that a faster merge would overshadow.

Sirenis reveled in it, in knowing something new, and his spark eased its struggles to force the merge faster as it reveled in the _belonging_.

Prowl moaned, in awe of how right this felt. It was both forever and far too soon when he felt his lover's consciousness brushing his own.

~Never want to let this go,~ Sirenis whispered, though it was not a truly conscious thought.

~Never want to let _you_ go,~ Prowl replied softly, love welling over the connection between their sparks that caused Sirenis to curl and melt into the emotion and contact. Flickering up was a willingness to do just that; to never let go.

It was met by a matching desire in Prowl as they sank into each other, the elder mech open as always to his lover and Sirenis nearly as open. The sense of each other tumbling over and flowing around themselves unhindered was even better than the direct pleasure it caused. For two mecha who had been alone much of their existence, in a crowd but never part of it, this was a bliss far beyond any physical desire.

~How?~ Sirenis trembled in desperate hope of that possibility despite the warnings his entire existence had provided that no such connection was possible, that everyone and everything was transitory.

~Bonding is permanent,~ Prowl replied softly, almost a bit hesitant at the possibility that his lover would react negatively.

~Nothing is permanent,~ came the reflexive reply, but the sheer sadness associated with the statement made Prowl ache for his friend and lover.

~Bonding is,~ he said again. ~It changes one's spark, and that can't be undone. Not even by death.~

Sirenis stilled at that, trying, somewhat in vain, to grasp the concept of _not ending_. From deep in his spark and processors there was a terrible welling of _desire_ for that anchor, an intensity that made him shy away sharply, nearly backing fully out of the merge as he grappled with this desire he could barely control.

~Do you want to think about it?~ Prowl asked, wanting, but not wanting to force.

~I _want_ it,~ his very spark cried out, wanting so desperately to have that he was willing to give anything for it.

~Want it too,~ Prowl replied, surrounding his lover with all his love and desire.

~Then we bond,~ the complex, fragmented mecha responded as a single entity, every corner of him agreeing that it was something he desired. With it though, was a tendril of uncertainty on the how.

In response, Prowl offered up his memories of what was taught to him as a young mechling, that intent and desire during a merge were needed. Sirenis nodded and opened himself fully, pushing his fears aside with a conscious decision to _trust_ Prowl and focused on his desire to make this connection a permanent one.

Prowl's desire to be one with this mech forever also rose as their very selves began to merge, blurring together more completely than they had ever before. The pleasure rose, a bright star at the core of their fully merged sparks that began to unwind part of what was Sirenis and part of what was Prowl to exchange them, sealing the pair's fate and future with the other. 

They cried out in unison as they overloaded, the excess energy crackling across their frames before crashing into their sparks once more to seal the bond and knock them off line and still merged until it stabilized.

Prowl drifted his way to coherency first, distantly aware of a contented, joyful purring thrum from his spark that wasn't from him.

Prowl blinked in confusion, then hummed in pleasure as memories came back. Sirenis waking without the protocols, them merging, the hazy decision to bond.

Bond. 

The elder mech smiled down at the lover in his arms, love unconsciously pouring over the connection between their sparks. It was enough to rouse Sirenis, slow and leisurely, to the same startled moment when he realized that not everything he was feeling was _him_.

Systems booted fast from there, the golden optic band snapping on to full power even before the processors behind it were fully functional.

"Prowl?"

"Yes, my love?" Prowl asked softly.

"Just checking," a tendril of _love-awe_ crept along the fledgling bond. "We really did it. We're bonded."

Prowl nuzzled him, and attempted to speak over the bond. ~We did. Love you.~

Sirenis jerked slightly in surprise, then laughed in absolute delight at the ability. ~Way cool. Love ya too.~

Prowl chuckled, kissing him softly. ~Bluestreak mentioned this ability after he bonded to the twins.~

~Useful, now I can tease you from anywhere,~ mischievous playfulness echoed in the bond and Siren's optic band as he shifted to draw Prowl in for a kiss. ~What else can we do with it?~

~We will likely have to build up to speaking over a distance, though I'm sure you'll enjoy practicing. We can tell each other's emotions and some sensations... We will be able to find each other, even without needing a comm ping,~ Prowl replied, continuing to kiss his mate as they spoke and very much enjoying the perk.

~Oh yes, lots of practice, lots of merging to make sure the bond is good and strong,~ Sirenis grinned, not caring in the least if his second statement was fact or not. It was fun.

Prowl hummed in agreement, kissing him again. ~And we can start as soon as we've had some energon.~


	5. Epilog

Prowl smiled as he and Sirenis stepped off the public transport, each with an excited sparkling in their arms. It had been many vorns, but Sirenis had finally felt comfortable enough in himself for them to try to kindle... And Primus had smiled up at them and granted them two at once, with each in the pair carrying one. Cadence and Coda were now the light in their creators' lives and Sirenis was already talking about doing it again, though with a bit more focus on Prowl carrying.

Now they were on their way to meet Prowl and Sirenis' friends. Even centuries after the war officially ended, the former crew of the Ark still gathered together to catch up with each other's lives. It had become a family affair, with the group bringing any mates and creations with them. It was always spark-warming to see the sparklings and younglings playing together, and this was the first gathering since Cadence and Coda had been put in their frames.

Both were in Praxian frames, modeled off the amazing three-jointed wing creation Sunstreaker had designed for Sundance. They looked more like fliers than grounders, but there was no missing the all-Praxian aesthetics in it with the chevron and facial structure.

Sirenis was in love with the look; enough he'd saved up from his performing fees to have Sunstreaker design one for him. It was his first display of the look to their extended family as well, though thanks to Sirenis performing it wasn't exactly a surprise.

Prowl smiled as they reached their destination and moved Cadence to one arm so that he could pull Sirenis into a kiss just outside the door. "Ready, love?"

"Always," the performer grinned as the kiss ended, easily keeping the more docile Coda under control.

Prowl opened the door and led his family into the large meeting room of the Prime's political residence. The little femme in his arms began to chirp and wriggle excitedly as she took in all the people already there. Her carrier was well-practiced at keeping hold of her, however, as friends from that long-ago half vorn on Earth came up to greet them and the sparklings they had all heard about.

So much had changed. Lovers had become families, the internal pressure to repopulate a world that had lost more than 99% of its population to the war doing wonders for some mecha's willingness to raise the next generation. Even as badly damaged as Cybertron had been when they finally won, there were so few of their kind left that even the meager resources Earth gave or traded to them was enough for everyone to live well and the rebuilding to begin in earnest.

Now it was Cybertron, still with barely 2% of its pre-war population, selling its products around the galaxy as the few Autobot scientists left had gleefully turned their attentions from war to peaceful needs with the same kind of intensity and self-pressure to produce.

"They're _adorable_!" the voice of a soon-to-be creator made everyone grin as Sundance pulled his carrying mate, a now-grumpy Smokescreen, up to greet the three-vorn olds.

"Thank you," Prowl replied as the sparklings perked up at the compliment. "Your creator did fine work on the designs. How are your preparations going?"

"Deadlocked," Smokescreen growled, daring his mate to counter him. " _I_ want a traditional frame, _he_ wants the new design."

Prowl hummed in non-committal sympathy. "Hopefully you two will work it out. And hopefully the stress of carrying will ease up for you." 

Smokescreen cracked a brief smile at that.

"I keep hoping for twins," Sunstreaker smirked at them. "That way they can have one of each."

"You're becoming quite the diplomat, Sunny," Sirenis snickered.

"He's finally recovered from carrying Slipshot and Brightstar," Bluestreak said as he squirmed his way to the front of the large crowd to get a good look at Sirenis and the newest Praxians. "Oh, they are _adorable_ , and so handsome. The construction did Sunstreaker's designs justice."

"It's not like it's that unlikely. Twins do seem to run in the family," Sunstreaker smirked.

"Where are your youngest?" Prowl asked curiously.

"Sideswipe's watching them play with the other sparklings," Sunstreaker replied, motioning to the group off to the side. 

Cadence's optics followed the motion, and as soon as she saw the tangle of sparklings she stepped up her attempts to escape. "Down! Play! Play!Playplayplaaaaay!" Even Coda began to squirm.

Sirenis laughed and offered to take Cadence from his mate so they could join the playing mass.

Prowl chuckled as he surrendered the femme.

"How do you two have energy with her around?" Smokescreen asked as she chattered excitedly, not stopping in her wriggling even as she was carried away.

Sirenis grinned at the carrying Praxian following him. "She does the talking for both of them, and Prowl's been close to Bluestreak since he joined up. It's me, remember? When have I ever been short on energy?"

"Down! Down! Wanna play!" Cadence continued, trying to get to the other sparklings faster.

"So which one did you carry? She is definitely taking after you," Smokescreen asked.

"So everyone says," Sirenis grinned at him and finally set the pair down near the edge of the impromptu play zone of Optimus Prime and Ironhide's large frames. "Prowl carried her. The quiet one is mine."

"Hiiii!" Cadence cried out as she and her brother ran to join the others climbing the large frames.

"Many would have lost bets on that," Smokescreen chuckled, and looked up at Prime. "Enjoy being a jungle gym, Optimus?"

"Quite," the long-familiar battle mask, once worn almost all the time, was absent as it had been since the war officially ended. "This is a delight I never thought I would live to see."

"You're a natural," Sirenis teased playfully, watching the nearly twenty sparklings and younglings climbing, sliding, chatting and even recharging on and around the two large mechs. "Though I dare say you won't be getting up anytime soon."

"A small sacrifice for happy sparklings," Optimus rumbled, the joy he felt at the imposition the sparklings represented undeniable.

"Are you and Elita going to give Hot Rod a sibling soon?" the carrying Praxian asked, grabbing a chair of his own to sit in.

"When he is fully upgraded," Optimus Prime said firmly. "We are both old fashioned that way. We want to give each one our full attention."

"Won't be that much longer then," Sirenis grinned, picking out all the changes to the youngsters he'd seen before. "He's nearly a mechling, isn't he?"

"They always grow too fast," Ironhide drawled.

"Says the mech who can't convince his mate to have one," Chromia chuckled from a nearby wall, her posture still of relaxed readiness to defend.

"Says the mech who hasn't tried, femme," Ironhide rumbled back. "I'm content to protect them."

"And act as a grand-creator on occasion?" Smokescreen teased him.

"That too," Ironhide chuckled, somehow managing to hold his helm still for the tiny youngling femme of rich orange and red was taking a nap there.

"So whose is she?" Prowl asked as he joined the gathering, sliding his arms around Sirenis from behind.

"Boomer is Blaster's," the final stage youngling with similar colors said as he wrestled with the much, much larger Springer.

"She's going to be a host, like him," Sirenis turned his helm to nuzzle his mate.

"Ah, I should have guessed that," Prowl chuckled lightly, resting his helm against his mate's. "And how have you two been, Hot Rod, Springer?"

"Whee! I'm high up!" Cadence cried out as she climbed up to Prime's shoulder. Her brother had found Slipshot and Brightstar, and was currently playing tag with them around the adults.

* * *

and ... yes I know it's a weird end, but it's the end.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note: This is why I really need to give up trying to write humor, crack and anything else that isn't angsty smut. It doesn't matter what I try, I end up with angsty smut. Yet I can't write really dark angsty stuff either.  
>  _goes off grumbling back to what she's good at_
> 
>  **Fandom** : Transformers G1  
>  **Author** : gatekat, flybystardancer on LJ  
>  **Pairing** : Jazz/Prowl  
>  **Rating** : NC-17 mech/mech  
>  **Codes** : Slash, First Time, Sticky, (completely failed) Crack, Debatable Consent  
>  **Summary** : The war has done many cruel things, but perhaps worst among them was what it did to the young, those who were not fully mature when the stress of combat was introduced to them. Many of those mecha never matured enough for their interfacing protocols to come on line, at least not until a period of peace came with their arrival on Earth.  
>  **Disclaimer** : The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the [inspirations page](http://www.gatekat-fics.livejournal.com/290.html). We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
>  **Notes** : Inspired by [RoboPeriod Adventures](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7751067/1/) by [Camfield](http://www.fanfiction.net/u/370931/Camfield)  
> nanoklik = 1/8 second;  
> klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds;  
> breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes;  
> groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours;  
> joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours;  
> orn = 42 joor/13.02 days;  
> decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years;  
> metacycle = 8 decaorn/9.22 years;  
> vorn = 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years;  
> ::text:: comm chatter  
> ~text~ hardline/bond chatter


End file.
